The Hunt is On
by DireWolf88
Summary: Sherlock's world is filled with danger and intrigue, and...Molly. His Beast notices this, with alarming acuity. Something is different about the Pathologist and both Sherlock and his Beast are determined to unravel the mystery. Add in a dangerously close-to-home serial killer, a meddling brother, and a loyal if not annoyingly-amused partner, and Sherlock knows...the hunt is on.
1. Chapter 1

**BBC's Sherlock is not mine.**

The silence in the morgue had become stifling. He had been staring at the body for 10 minutes without uttering a sound. For goodness sakes, they had only spent 5 minutes at the crime scene. Finally, John could take it no more. "The brother then?"

"Don't be daft, John. It was obviously the gardener. If the soil streaks at the base of the victim's scalp weren't enough to give it away, the trace scents of boric acid and copper sulfate- most commonly found in industrial strength pesticides underneath the victim's fingernails was a dead give away. Pun intended of course." The consulting detective finished his deduction with a flourish of his Belstaff and a smug look at his partner in crime.

John merely shrugged. He figured it wasn't the brother who murdered the deceased millionaire. He had interviewed him personally and sensed true grief in the man. A philanthropist the millionaire had not been, but he was apparently a great brother. This however was not the point behind his suggestion. He had learned over the years that suggesting the wrong person often annoyed Sherlock enough that the detective would reveal the truth sooner instead of dragging the event out. It was a crude method. But its results were incontestable.

"We'll have him picked up immediately. I'll need more details for the questioning of course." Lestrade was scribbling notes in his ever-present notepad standing close to the morgue doors. It gave the impression that the DI was not a fan of the place, ready to flee as soon as all necessary information had been collected.

"Ah yes, let me do even more of your job for you then, shall I Graham?"

"Sherlock. Manners." This soft-spoken admonishment emanated from the desk in the far corner of the room. Molly Hooper did not even glance up from her rather daunting stack of paper work. Sherlock's gaze, however, zeroed in on her the moment she spoke.

John's suspicions were confirmed. Sherlock had the case solved back at the crime scene. The only reason they trekked down to St. Bart's was to put Sherlock in the path of Ms. Hooper. Ever since the horrible (and hilarious if he was being entirely honest with himself) slapping incident several months back, things between the two had been different.

At first, Sherlock had avoided St. Bart's like it was a plague hospital. Making lame excuses for why there was no need to visit, or ensuring they only went at specific times. He had driven Mr. Morrison, the other pathologist, to the brink of insanity. However, John was also aware that Molly Hooper had several layers of protection surrounding her from the moment that the chilling broadcast had announced Moriarty's re-introduction into society. Sherlock demanded his brother's coöperation in protecting her and all others close to him or he would not give the matter its due focus. John knew this for the bluff it was. His friend would never let such a dangerous case go unchecked.

But, after a mumbled comment about "trifling goldfish", Mycroft was tapping away at his mobile and that was that. John also suspected that all the times Sherlock had disappeared from 221B in the middle of the night (information courtesy of Mrs. Hudson), may have been spent in his Other form prowling the dark alley below Ms. Hooper's flat.

Whether the pathologist was aware of any of this was another question entirely.

But after several weeks of this cumbersome avoidance policy, things changed. One night, Sherlock had been playing a rather somber tune on his violin. He stopped, jumped to his feet suddenly, and claimed that he had to see a body. John had gently reminded him that Molly was working that evening. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, the color darkening to hardened amber and one side of his mouth had lifted in a predatory smirk before he responded, "Obviously, John. I believe my Pathologist has avoided me long enough." John was kind enough to not point out that Sherlock had done his own fair share of avoidance.

Despite their renewed physical proximity, Molly Hooper remained distant. She was polite and welcoming to all in equal measure. She still supplied Sherlock with biological waste if he needed it (provided all necessary documentation was filed). But to Sherlock's annoyance, she was distant from him in every close way they had developed before Magnussen had forced Sherlock to resort to desperate measures. Before he had said awful things to her. She calmly accepted his explanation that the drug use was only one time and that it was indeed for the case. "I believe you, Sherlock. And I trust you." He thought that would be the end of it, but no. She remained ever cold. And not at all the warm, sweet, welcoming Molly he had grown attached-ahem, accustomed- to.

Sherlock's growl of impatience drew John's wandering thoughts back to the present.

After a few awkward moments of waiting for his pathologist to say something else, anything else, the detective shrugged his shoulders in faux nonchalance and moved toward the exit. The low whine from the back of his throat was damning though. Lestrade remained oblivious as per usual, but John heard it and raised both eyebrows at his friend. Sherlock scowled and stormed past him, refusing to acknowledge the weakness.

At the doors, however he stopped abruptly and without turning around spoke in a clear and determined voice, "My apologies Detective Inspector, I will dictate a list to John and have it sent to you as soon as possible." He turned sharply to face the DI and was met with a gaping wide-eyed Lestrade who was able to finally force out a mumbled "thank you" in response.

Sherlock gifted him with an arrogant smirk and motioned to John. "Come on John. We have places to go, lists to write." This bit was said with a hint of disdain, unavoidable even if he was attempting to placate the frustrating female who seemed determined to ignore him. "No time to waste."

"Right, yeah."

They were just turning to go when Molly spoke again. "Oh, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock spun around and found Molly standing now, her fingers playing absently with the ends of her messy ponytail. She was smiling shyly at him, but had a determined glint in her eye. If he wasnt sure of her full human status, he would swear he saw an almost Feline expression cross her delicate features.

"Yes, Molly?" She may have resorted to last names as a way to hold herself aloof, but he had no such compunction. His deep baritone reverberated across the room and he saw her body shiver in response. She caught herself and it would have been undetectable if not for his sharp Other senses. He couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face. This was it, she was finally going to tear down the ridiculous wall that had risen between them. She would welcome his attentions and he could finally put his incredible mind to the mystery of why she was so ensnared in his thoughts...

"You forgot your scarf." She snagged the scarf from the bench where he had set it and apparently forgotten it, before holding it out to him. His face fell momentarily at the mundane nature of her comment. But then he realized- she was not moving. She remained where she was, holding out the blasted scarf, and waiting for him to retrieve it. A hunt, then? So be it. His inner Beast perked up at the thought of a hunt, but he soothed it down.

He stalked over to her and went to grab the scarf, but Molly held it up and away from him. He lowered his hands to his side and waited for her to make the next move.

John and Lestrade watched all of this with varying expressions of bafflement and humor.

Molly slowly, so as not to startle him, raised the scarf above his head. He leaned in toward her under the guise of putting himself in easier range, but he used the opportunity to inhale her scent. His mouth opened slightly and he breathed in deep, letting his Beast catch every detail of the intoxicating smell. It held trace hints of formaldehyde, a light lavender body wash, and pure Molly. He also detected something that he had never caught before, probably because he was too much of an inconsiderate arse before to bother (not that he would ever admit that to anyone of course). It was Other. Feline specifically. Impossible. His brother and he had done extensive research into each person he allowed into his circle. The only other Others were John and Mary. Both Ursuline.

Before he could analyze the Feline scent further, it was gone. He could not detect it at all, as if it had never been. Molly finished securing his scarf, gave a nervous chuckle and turned around to return to her desk. But Sherlock caught her small hand in his and waited until she returned her gaze to him.

"Thank you." His voice came out gruff and not at all the smooth debonair tone he was going for. His Beast was far too close to the surface for that. It had recognized the brief female Feline scent and refused to be caged.

Sherlock decided a hasty exit was wisest. "Goodbye, Molly." He gently squeezed Molly's hand and released it.

He buttoned his coat and left the morgue, John and Lestrade right behind him.

Lestrade got into his car and drove away after a last questioning look at the detective. Sherlock of course had ignored this, feeling in no way up to explaining the situation.

After hailing a taxi, he and John climbed in and were well on their way to Baker Street before John finally spoke up.

"Everything alright, mate?"

Sherlock remained ramrod straight in his seat, not bothering to meet his friend's amused eyes.

"Fine."

John bit his lip and huffed in that purely Ursuline way of his. "Sure." A brief pause. "Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"Your stripes are showing." Sherlock's answering scowl spoke of his disbelief but his reflection in the mirror proved John correct. Just peeping out from the collar of his coat, thick bands of his skin were darkening to form the natural stripes of his kind. Impossible to avoid in situations of extreme excitement, ranging from hunting, to danger, to...arousal.

He let out a soft curse and tugged the Belstaff higher choosing to ignore his best friends growling guffaws. This brought the scarf Molly had been holding closer to his nose. There it was again. The brief hint of female Feline. His Beast, riled up from being made the butt of any joke, laid down and purred in contentment once Sherlock let that scent settle in.

There was something amiss with Molly Hooper and he would be damned before he let that go unchecked. The pathologist was his to figure out, his to comfort, his to protect...

Sherlock shook his head to clear his mind of the rather alarming thoughts that his Beast and he had been repeating. He looked up and found John staring down at him from his opened cab door.

"Baker Street. When did we get home?"

John just smiled, shook his head in obvious glee and strode to the door of 221B, leaving the detective to catch up at his own pace. "This is going to be interesting."

**Mystery, romance, and Other adventures to come. Reviews are love.**


	2. Chapter 2

_**BBC's Sherlock is not mine.**_

It was a slow night in the morgue. She finished all of her paperwork early and only had one autopsy to perform. Despite the low-level of activity, Molly's mind was racing. How could she be so foolish? Yesterday's little rebellion with Sherlock was far too risky. Delicious, but risky.

The poor detective thought Molly was angry and resentful. True, she had been angry at him. For falling back on bad habits. For making fun of her broken engagement. For being with that Janine character from the wedding. But honestly, that anger had faded upon learning a few relevant facts. First, the drug use was proven to be a singular event and in the name of protecting John Watson. Not surprising. He had once 'committed suicide' for the man. One night spent high and in a dank crack house isn't much in comparison. Second, the end of her relationship with Tom was one of the best things that had happened to Molly. She had only dated him out of boredom and loneliness and only accepted his proposal because he had proposed in front of his entire family. She was so shocked that she said yes out of fear of humiliating him so publicly. She could not begrudge Sherlock for pointing out its failure. And lastly, his brief turn with the maid of honor. It was a thorn that stuck deep in her paw. That is until she discovered that it was all a ruse to get to Magnussen. It may make her a horrible person, but she couldn't feel sorry for the human. And when she overheard Sherlock confessing to John that he had not in fact slept with her, Molly found herself inappropriately over joyed. As for him killing Magnussen, Molly couldn't care less. The man threatened people close to him. In the world of Others, Sherlock had every right.

Granted, the detective was unaware that Molly was a part of that world as well. This was a truth she kept with unflinching determination. With her parents deceased, no living person knew the truth about Molly Hooper. No one knew who...what...she really was. It would be too dangerous to tell anyone. To really let anyone in, both for her and that individual. Her kind had been hunted to the brink of extinction for their gifts. In fact, she was the last as far as she knew.

No. Anger was not her motivation for ignoring him. It was biology. Her Quocalor was fast approaching. Molly detected the early signs of it right around the time of Magnussen's demise. The Quocalor, an Other version of Pon Farr (she loved Star Trek and didn't care if that made her a typical nerd), was a serious event for any female. It only happened once every few years and was a beautiful and steamy step in finding a Prius, short for Proprius Conjunx, a permanent mate. As usual, thinking about the Latin roots of her people's terminology brought a smile to her face. The Others have been around since man first walked on two legs instead of four, but it wasn't until the time of the Romans that they finally got their act together and organized.

The hot flashes were becoming more frequent and Molly's skin was almost constantly sensitized. Her encounter with Sherlock yesterday was proof that she was far too close for her liking. One of the gifts of her kind was the ability to disguise their scent, but in the height of Quocalor, even Molly could not mask it completely. This left her only one option. She needed to leave. She had tried distancing herself from Sherlock emotionally, but her inner Beast merely chuffed at her futile attempts. The truth was, she was in serious trouble. Her Feline pushed and strained against its cage anytime the man was in the room. Begging to tease him and twitch its tail in invitation. But this of course was unacceptable. Sherlock was in no way interested in her. At least not romantically. By her estimation, she was barely on the outer edges of friendship with the man. It hurt her deeply to think about it. But she refused to use biology and the pheromones secreted during this time to trap him. She wanted the real deal and had come to the self-inspired conclusion that she refused to settle. She lent over the body and nodded to herself in reaffirmation.

"Did the corpse ask you something Molly?"

The familiar voice startled her so badly that she dropped her tray of instruments.

"Oh, blast!" She pressed her hand to her chest in an attempt to slow her racing heart and looked up to see the object of her thoughts manifest before her.

"You were nodding at the corpse. I was just wondering if he had asked you a question." As he spoke, Sherlock bent to pick up the scalpels and other tools from the floor, placing them on the tray and then discarding them in the to-be-sanitized bin.

Molly still hadn't moved by the time he returned to her. "Um, no. No. I was just thinking about something."

"Of course."

He didn't say anything after that. Just stood before her with his hands in his pockets staring down at her. The intensity of his gaze unnerved Molly. She double checked that she was successfully concealing her scent. Satisfied, she felt compelled to speak.

"Was there something you needed?"

He studied her for a moment longer, cocking his head to the side and refusing to look away, despite Molly's obvious discomfort.

Finally, he relented. "Lestrade messaged me. There is a body he wants me to take a look at."

Sherlock was lying. He had received no such text from Lestrade. One of his homeless network, assigned to monitoring Bart's, informed him of an incoming corpse. Sherlock jumped on the opportunity to see her. Molly. Confounding Molly. Confusing Molly. Tempting Molly.

"Oh, well, he didn't tell me you were coming. I don't have cause of death yet. I've only just done preliminaries." He could tell she forced herself to stop rambling. She stilled her fidgeting, raised her chin, and looked him straight in the eye. He found himself inexplicably proud of her. Strong Molly.

"Yes, he was unsure of its validity as a case. Wanted me to let him know if it was worth investigating."

"And you agreed?"

"Of course I did. I'm generous that way." This forced a sweet little laugh out of Molly and Sherlock decided he loved that sound. It made him and his Beast very happy to hear it and to know that he was the one who caused it.

"Yeah but really?"

"Do you want the truth?"

"Always."

The mood turned serious. "I wanted to see you again. Its been too long since we last spoke."

She scoffed in disbelief. "We just saw each other yesterday, Sherlock." Aha! A slip. She had used his first name. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

"Yes, but that encounter was brief. Stilted. Not at all what I have become accustomed to in the parameters of our relationship. Pre-slaps of course."

" 'Parameters of our rela...' What?!"

She stepped back and looked down at her feet. He was losing her. He could sense it. He growled low and moved closer to her, backed her into the autopsy table behind her and crowded in until she had no choice but to be still and listen to him. She retained her independence though by refusing to meet his gaze and instead focusing on a point just over his left shoulder.

"I've missed you Molly."

This got a response. In such close quarters he was able to feel the moment her body relaxed. He saw the blush rise in her cheeks and her eyes soften. He could have sworn he saw her eyes fade from their beautiful chocolate color to a startling silver shade for the briefest of moments before she closed them. She cleared her throat and made to respond when John came bursting through the doors of the morgue.

Molly let out an adorable little yelp and Sherlock allowed her to scoot around him and escape to the other side of the table. He sighed in frustration. Great. Nothing between them now but a dead body and his partner, whose talent for ill-timed arrivals was unparalleled.

Surprisingly, John ignored him and addressed Molly. "Oh thank goodness. Molly, there you are. Why aren't you answering your mobile?"

She seemed just as surprised by his attention as Sherlock was. "I...I was about to perform an autopsy. I always turn it off when I'm slicing. Don't want to get distracted and all that."

John nodded.

_He was still trying to catch his breath. Shirt wasn't tucked in. One shoe coming untied. John was a military man to the core. This state of undress, for him, indicated that he came to Bart's with utmost haste. But why? His normally genteel nature, a product of his inner Bear, was only ever disrupted when someone he cared for was in danger. So, who did John believe was under threat? Easy. The first person John's eyes sought out upon entering the morgue. But that was...Molly._

Sherlock's entire demeanor changed when his deductions reached their logical and upsetting conclusion. John believed there was some sort of threat to Molly and Sherlock had faith in John's intelligence, as limited as it may sometimes be.

The Feline Other raised his shoulders and lowered his head in a classic pose of aggression and moved around the table placing himself in a semi-conscious gesture of protection in front of the pathologist. Not from John of course. Just the world in general.

"What's going on?" Short. To the point. Not at all the Sherlockian manor of addressing things. But then, the Beast admittedly had more control currently. A threat to his mate was unacceptable. Wait. His what?

His thoughts were interrupted by John. "Lestrade just contacted me. Asked me to find Molly and keep her safe until he can set up some sort of protection."

"What?! Why? What's happened?" She spoke this while peering around Sherlock's shoulder. It pleased him greatly that she did not attempt to push him away.

"That body on your table Molly. Do you know who he is?"

Sherlock heard her shuffling some papers around on her clipboard behind him, but didn't turn around. He kept his amber gaze locked on John. He wanted answers.

"Michael Coors. 48, died of suspected asphyxiation. Cause undetermined. What's so special about who he is?"

John shook his head. "It's not who he is Molly. It's what he did for a living. He and four others like him, all from London, have been found dead within the last 2 weeks. At first it was dismissed due to two of them being what appeared to be natural deaths. But now, the body count is too high to be coincidence. Lestrade and the rest of New Scotland Yard believe we may have a serial killer on our hands. One who targets a specific profession."

Molly's voice was significantly softer when she asked her next question. "What was their occupation? All those victims..."

John opened his mouth to respond, but Sherlock beat him to it. "Isn't it obvious, Molly?"

He reached behind himself, grabbed the edges of her lab coat, and pulling her in closer behind him, needing her anchored to him.

"They were all Pathologists."

**Reviews are love.**


	3. Chapter 3

The consulting detective and his partner waited patiently just inside the doors of the morgue for Molly to finish the autopsy on the deceased pathologist. She had tried to persuade them to wait outside, citing hospital policy, but Sherlock simply ignored her and made himself comfortable.

She was thorough in her examination. Not that she wasn't always thorough, but she was willing to admit that the effort she put into this particular endeavor was substantial.

"Cause of death confirmed. asphyxiation due to trachea and larynx being crushed. Based on the bruising around the neck, the victim was strangled by hand. Size of handprints indicate a large male. No apparent signs of a struggle. However, a micro puncture wound underneath the victim's jaw found to be the injection site of the paraletic substance discovered in the victim's system: identified by toxicology department as a medicinized form of puffer fish victim was paralyzed and then strangled while fully aware. Barely processed contents of his stomach and semi-masticated particles in his mouth suggest that the victim was in the middle of consuming a meal at the time of injection and death." She spoke confidently into the recorder as she scribed her findings into the official report.

The entire time she was talking, she could feel Sherlock's eyes on her. Tracking her every movement. Like she was prey. Molly shivered pleasantly at the thought. She was a predatory animal herself and normally did not take kindly to being prey, but for this male, she was willing to make an exception. She could feel the single bold stripe on her back start to darken and was eminently thankful that her breed's coloration allowed for easy cover.

She cleared her throat and was happy to hear that her voice came out steady and strong (if was a touch lower, she wasn't going to let it count against her). "Done. I'm just going to slide him back into cold storage and I'll be ready to go."

As she performed her closing tasks, she thought about the coming evening. Lestrade was going to meet up with them back at Baker Street and discuss the case and its ramifications. Beyond that, Molly had no idea.

"Okay. Lets go."

He helped her into her coat and they were on their way. He never strayed far from her side, even when he was hailing a cab. The ride was short with no conversation and before she knew it, she was standing just inside of 221B.

She had only been to Sherlock's flat on a couple of occasions, but it was one of her favorite places. Not only because of the male who resided there, but the place in general. The random experiments always taking place, the fascinating scientific texts, even the skull with its own place of honor on the fireplace. It was not a typical Tigurian den, neat and orderly, but Sherlock was also half Leotan. Rambunctious and ferocious. She had surmised from the few brief encounters with his brother, that Sherlock had inherited the lion's share of the Leotan genetics (she loved her sense of humor, Sherlock could stuff it) and Mycroft, the Tigurian. Either way, Sherlock's den was perfect, at least to her.

"Anyone for a cuppa?" John asked.

"That would be lovely." Molly could use its warm comfort. The revelation of the possible danger she was in left her chilled to the core.

"No, thank you, John."

"I'll have one." Lestrade muttered this as he came striding into the flat. "If you dont mind."

"Not at all."

After the tea was prepared, Sherlock motioned for everyone to sit down and Molly made her way with Lestrade to the couch against the back wall that she knew was reserved for clients and guests. Sherlock and John went to their respective chairs.

Lestrade wasted no time. "Here are the facts. All five victims were Pathologists from hospitals in the London area. 2 from the same hospital. That's actually what tipped us off. So far all of the victims have been male, but that could be due to the higher ratio of male pathologists to female ones, at least here in London. All of the other precincts are in the process of putting protection on other possible victims..."

Here, Molly interrupted. "Possible victims. You mean- pathologists. What sort of protection?"

"Some are getting plain clothes units to tail them outside of the hospital, others have agreed to go stay with friends or family. Don't worry Molly. I wont let this bastard get to you." As he said this, he laid a friendly hand on her shoulder and she answered him with a small smile.

There was a rather loud growl from the other side of the room and Sherlock was out of his chair and beside her quicker then she could blink. Greg snatched his hand from her shoulder as if he could sense some sort of danger to his person. He may be human, but he was particularly sensitive to dangerous situations.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the DI, a few of his sleek curls falling becomingly onto his brow. He reached down and lifted her up by the elbow.

"Molly, come sit here by the fire. I'm sure you need the warmth."

"But Sherlock, there is no fire lit."

"Even so."

"Sherlock, I was getting more heat from sharing the couch with Greg than this non-existent fire. And besides, this is your chair. You never let anyone sit in your chair."

"Nonsense." His solution to her complaints? He simply scooped her up, sat in the chair and promptly settled her on his lap with what could only be described as a possessive hand at her hip. What on earth?

"Sherlock!" She squeaked. It wasnt the most dignified of responses but it was all she could manage. After some futile squirming which only served to make him tighten his grip on her with another hand on her calf, Molly eventually stopped resisting and gave in.

"Good," he bit out, satisfied. She swore she could feel him purring beneath the hand she had placed on his chest for balance. He was trying not to, but she could feel it. "Very well then,_ Greg_," Sherlock sneered his name as if it were a curse, "continue."

After some stammering at having witnessed such a sight for a second time in as many days, Greg did. "Ahem, yes, well, uh, the reports show that all of the victims were killed in varying ways. It would seem our killer has no preferred method. The only other common factor between all of them was the venom."

"The puffer fish venom?" Sherlock queried.

"Yes. The toxicology reports on the first four victims just came back yesterday and Molly, yours came back just this evening as you know. They all reported similar levels of the toxin prevalent in puffer fish venom found in the victims' bloodstream."

"Were the injection sights found on the first four as well? Molly found one just under Coors' jaw." John asked.

Lestrade flipped through the files of the case he had brought with him. Eventually he nodded. "Two of them, yes. Just under the jaw."

"And the other two?"

"Unknown. They were suspected to be natural causes and the families elected not to have autopsies. Both were cremated."

Sherlock's hand began drawing small intimate circles on Molly's hip. It was driving her to distraction.

"We should assume that they too bore similar placement."

"A serial killer then? You're sure?" Lestrade looked almost hopefully at Sherlock.

"Quite sure." Sherlock was already drifting. She could see it. He was about to enter his mind palace. And still his hand drew their patterns. Even through the denim, it felt like a brand.

"Well damn. I was hoping you would tell me that it was ridiculous. Just a coincidence."

"Coincidence? The universe is rarely so lazy."

Lestrade nodded resignedly and made to leave. "I'll call you in the morning. Everything we discussed still alright?"

Sherlock grunted in agreement. John rose to escort Lestrade out.

"Leave the files, George."

Lestrade must have been tired, because he didn't even flinch at the incorrect name. "Can't, Holmes. Its police property. We need it for our investigation."

Sherlock let out a low chuckle at this and was gifted with a light slap on the stomach and a frown from Molly. He gave her a childish look of "Really? Do I have to play nice?" before he turned back to Lestrade.

"Yes yes. You and your department's investigation is important and critical to solving this case. Blah blah blah. But I really do need the pertinent information for my own purposes." He then looked at Molly as if to say, "see? i can behave." Ridiculous.

John broke in, "I'll come to the station tomorrow and get copies. How's that?" Both parties nodded and Greg left. John picked up the tea-tray and went into the kitchen.

Molly made to get up and prepare to leave herself but was once again stopped by both of Sherlock's hands tightening their grip.

"Sherlock?"

"Molly?"

The man was infuriating! Gorgeous, brilliant, and an all around impressive specimen of male who she was madly in love with. But still- infuriating!

"I need to go home Sherlock. It's late and I want to get a piping hot shower before I crawl under my covers and give in to this exhaustion."

"Were you not paying attention, Molly? All of the remaining pathologists in this area have been put under protection."

"Yeah, so?"

He rolled his eyes and moved the hand on her calf up to her neck. He began kneading her sore muscles gently and she moaned. She didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed. His reaction to the soft sound was intriguing. She saw his eyes flicker golden before he looked away and she could have sworn she saw stripes begin to inch up the curve of his neck. She could hardly believe what she was witnessing. Sherlock was aroused? By her? Surely not. But no, his Tigurian lineage made it impossible for him to hide. Her Beast, quiet for most of the night was now wide awake.

_Male. Strong. Clever. Ours._

No. Down girl. Not ours. Never ours. This thought brought Molly's spirits down a bit, but her Beast ignored her weak attempts at dissuasion.

_Ours. Let him claim. Want. Need._

His deep baritone response only served to rile her Beast up more. "You will be staying with me Molly. Here at Baker Street. For the foreseeable future."

"But..." He shook his head slowly, negating any at argument she may have made.

"Your cat has been placed in temporary care and is quite content, I assure you. I had your friend, Amy pack a suitcase for you. Your rent and utilities have all been take care of for the next few months, not that it should take me that long to solve this case, but still, don't like to be rushed." She mentally chuckled at this. He was sure willing to rush everyone else. Herself included.

"You did all this when?"

"While you were conducting Mr. Coors' autopsy."

_Good male. Provided for us_.

"What if I declined?"

He stilled. Even his hands stopped their delicious motions. "Are you declining?"

She couldn't vocalize a response. She simply shook her head and rose to her feet, Sherlock's brief lapse allowing her to escape.

"I'll stay."

He rose as well. "Of course you will." The stripes were still there. In fact, they had grown darker. He believed she could not see them, being human. But she was painfully aware of their presence and her own reaction to them.

_Mmmmm. Make him chase._

Molly shook her head at the preposterous thought. Chasing was a big deal to someone in her current condition. One of the final steps of the Quocalor. If a female decided a specific male was the one, she would initiate a Chase at the height of a full moon. If the male caught her and she submitted, that was pretty much that. A night of ravenous love-making, a claiming bite, and a ceremonial meal caught and supplied by the male as a tender offering in the morning and the union was pretty much set.

Granted, it was a new moon, so no danger there. Even so, Sherlock would never accept her challenge. He was probably just feeling some inadvertent side effects of her Quocalor pheromones despite her attempts at masking, and was reacting against his will. She wilted a little at the thought.

She stepped back. "Well, thank you, Sherlock. And you, John." She waved to the Ursuline who had just re-entered the sitting room. "You are both very kind to allow me to stay, even if I was never properly asked." She couldn't help this little admonishment. She may be a naturally quiet and peaceable person, but she was still a Feline. The male couldn't go completely unscorned.

She spotted the case with her belongings that Amy must have prepared and picked it up. "I'm just going to get a shower and head to bed if you don't mind. It's been a long day."

"Make yourself at home, Molly." John had a friendly welcoming smile.

She made her way to the bathroom, but turned for a final glimpse of Sherlock. His back was to her now and he was staring out the window. His mood? Undecipherable.

She shrugged inwardly and soothed her Beast. Oh well. No use crying over wasted pheromones.

Her shower was long and steamy, not in the fun way of course. After a quick pat dry and a comb through her long tangle of curls, Molly tiptoed outside of the bathroom clad in short pajama bottoms and a rather revealing spaghetti-strap form-fitting tank top. Honestly, what had Amy been thinking? Yes, this is what she normally wore to bed. Well, actually, she had been wearing nothing recently due to her sensitized skin. But still...Amy knew she would be residing with two men, one of whom she had a heart-wrenching crush on. Amy was an evil little Vixen. Literally.

She didn't see either man around, so she found a clean sheet and blanket in the linen closet (courtesy of Mrs. Hudson most likely) and bedded down onto 221B's rather lumpy couch. She was asleep almost immediately, the day's events and the hot shower taking their toll.

She was so tired, that she barely even stirred an hour later when a pair of strong familiar arms scooped her gently from the couch and carried her down the hallway to lie in a much more comfortable bed, before quietly exiting the room. She was in a bed that smelled of sandalwood and just a hint of peppermint tobacco. And delicious Legurian male. Even her Beast, which had been pacing in frustration ever since her denial earlier, was calmed. Molly succumbed to peaceful slumber, the scent of Sherlock surrounding her, but not the man himself. Much to her subconscious displeasure.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Just realized that I forgot to warn people about Season 3 spoilers. So if I ruined anything for any of my readers, I sincerely apologize. There are more spoilers in this chapter, so consider yourself warned. **

**Also, a belated thank you to all who have favorited and reviewed this story. It is much appreciated and I am beyond happy that all of you are excited about this world that I have had swimming around in my head for years and am finally putting onto paper (figuratively speaking of course). I love writing it as much as you beautiful lot seem to enjoy reading it. Anywho...on with the show.**

**BBC's Sherlock is not mine.**

"This eggy bread is delicious, Molly." John said after swallowing an alarmingly large bite.

"Thank you, John. It was my father's recipe. He called it our 'special day' breakfast. But in reality, he just made it whenever he fancied. His reasoning being that everyday was special if you wanted it to be."

"Sounds like a wise man."

"He was."

The tender moment was interrupted by the front door of 221B banging open and a certain consulting detective waltzing in, having just returned from some unknown errand. John did not appear fazed by his partner's dramatic appearance.

"Ah, John. You stayed here last night as opposed to your own place. All necessary belongings have been moved back there, but you stayed here. You and your very pregnant wife reconciled over a month ago, so there must be some extreme circumstance that kept you away last night. I know it wasn't a fight based on the lack of coloration underneath your eyes. You had a sound rest, so no great argument plaguing your mind. Perhaps it..."

Molly decided to interrupt him here. "Let me guess. Please."

She turned big brown eyes full of mirth to him and Sherlock was lost.

"I never _guess_, Molly. But you may proceed." He decreed.

"Mary had a guest stay over. I know she recently reconnected with the bit of family that she has been out of touch with ever since her um, 'military days' shall we call them-" She saw John tense and hastened to clarify. "Don't know much about it other than it was all top secret and forced her to drift from her family. To be honest I don't want to know anymore. Mary is my friend and that's all that matters."

John seemed mollified, so she continued. "I know the person was female based on Mary's willingness to allow you to stay here, and going by the fact that she even packed your bag for you..."

"How _can_ you know that, Molly?" John grinned broadly at Sherlock's interruption.

"Simple. The little love note tucked away in John's robe pocket. I have caught him reading it no less than 3 times this morning. I have not been able to read it, only glimpses. The kind of sweet note a wife would leave in a lunch pail or a traveling bag for a husband to find. Anyway, based on all of the evidence, the conclusion is quite clear."

She placed her coffee down and looked Sherlock directly in the eye. He moved around the table and ended up standing directly beside her with John at the end of the table to their left.

"Well go on Detective Hooper. Impress us." Sherlock's tone was tinged with amusement, but she could also detect pride and a few flecks of gold around the iris. He was enjoying her little display.

"Cause: Mother-In-Law staying for the weekend. Consequence: John resides at Baker Street for corresponding weekend." John let out a hearty laugh, entertained by the entire conversation, but particularly amused by his friend's response to being beaten to the punch. He could tell Sherlock was downright giddy.

John complimented Molly. "That was brilliant."

"Elementary." Both Sherlock and Molly responded simultaneously. There was a brief loaded look between the two and then all 3 of them gave in to a good laugh. Even Sherlock ,who was not typically prone to such.

"Well, Molly, I knew you were a brilliant pathologist and chemist, but I was unaware of your amateur detective skills." He sat down at the table and made to draw his microscope closer. It took Molly a moment to recover her wits after the sincere sort-of-compliment, but she gathered herself together enough to carefully snatch the microscope back from him and place it on the counter behind her.

"Steady on!"

"No, Sherlock. Have you eaten breakfast?" A petulant shake of his head was the only response he gave her. She placed a plate in front of him with 2 pieces of french toast, a pear half with honey glaze, and a few strips of bacon.

"Eat this and I'll give it back."

He scoffed at her. "I am not a child to be bargained with." But even as he spoke, he loaded up a forkful and took a bite. He chewed slowly and Molly could tell he liked it. A lot. After swallowing, he sighed, as if put upon. "But since you are going through a traumatic event, I shall indulge you. John pass the syrup." She turned to the coffee pot, a victorious smile on her face. She couldn't resist just a bit more teasing.

"Oh and Sherlock?"

"Hm?" his mouth was full of tasty breakfast.

"It's the robe."

"I beg your pardon?"

"My awesome deductive skills. They were enhanced, I think, by the robe I am currently wearing." He saw her mouth twitch in humor as he took in her appearance for the first time that morning. Once his perusal was complete, he definitely felt gold in his eyes and his voice was gruff when he responded. "That's _my _robe."

"Yeah, I woke up in your bed this morning." She turned to John horrified, likely at the unintentional implication of her words. "No not like that...I wasn't...we didn't..."

"Its okay, Molly, John knows I carried you to bed last night. He's the one who suggested it."

"No I didn-" John began, an incredulous look crossing his features.

"Shut up, John. Please," he pinned Molly with a heated gaze, "continue."

"Well, I discovered that my friend did not think to pack me a robe and I was rather cold, and I saw this hanging on the hook behind your door, so I didn't think there was any harm in borrowing it, and then I saw the periodic table hanging on your wall and that specific elements were circled and I found myself curious as to why and then..." She stopped herself and took a deep calming breath before looking at him again, "Anyway, I'm sorry."

She untied the robe, but was stopped before she could peel off the offending garment by a warm hand on hers.

"No. Its yours. Keep it. You will most certainly need a robe for the duration of you stay here. And I find I rather like the sight of my robe on you." And my scent mingling with yours, he thought to himself.

_Yes. We keep female warm. Female should smell like us._ Sherlock agreed with his Beast. He wanted to blame his raging emotions on his other soul, but could not afford to lie to himself.

The sip of coffee John had just partaken of caught in his throat and he began to sputter. "Sher...*cough*...lock...you cant just...*cough*... say things like that."

"Why on earth not? It's the truth. You are constantly encouraging me to be honest, John. I take your advice and am admonished for it. I hardly see how that's fair." The entire time he spoke, he was retieing the knot at Molly's waist. He could tell she was flustered and took shameless advantage of her inability to formulate a protest. When satisfied that the knot was secure, he finished with a small stroke of her waist that could have passed for accidental, but most assuredly was not. He reluctantly moved away from her and sat down to finish his breakfast.

"So where did you go this morning?" John seemed eager to change the subject.

"Out."

"Mmmyes. I got that much believe it or not. Any more details you could offer?"

"I was visiting the murder sites of the Undertaker's victims."

"Sorry, who?" In answer, Sherlock removed a sheaf of newspaper from his inner breast pocket and smoothed it out on the table.

Molly gasped at the headline and read it aloud. **Undertaker Wreaks Havoc on London's Death Doctors**.

"Yes, the media have cleverly dubbed our serial killer, the Undertaker. How quaint."

"Why must they empower these psychopaths?" Sherlock read Molly quickly. _Flushed cheeks, clenched fists, slight tremors._ Molly was angry. Likely at the inconsiderate media, at the term 'Death Doctor', at this Undertaker character who preyed on people just because of their profession, at her life in general for spinning out of control and stranding her here of all places. He felt a stab of guilt, but it passed quickly. Molly belonged here. With him. These types of thoughts had become commonplace in the last week. Sherlock had not found an opportune moment to explore them yet, but their validity was undeniable. He would get around to it, as soon as this Undertaker was off the street and no longer a threat to his Pathologist.

Molly moved closer to Sherlock, as if his proximity provided her some measure of comfort. He did not comment. Merely adjusted his stance to allow her to lean against him.

"Anything useful at the murder scenes?" John asked.

"Not yet. What I really need is an untouched scene and a fresh kill." He steepled his hands beneath his chin.

"Sherlock!" John chided.

"Not good?"

"A bit. Yeah."

Sherlock shrugged.

A half hour later saw everyone going their separate ways for the day. Lestrade came by to escort Molly to work.

_Must protect our female. Grey-maned man watch her while we find threat_. Correct.

_Hmmm...but Grey-maned man touch her again, he will lose a paw_. Sherlock was tempted to agree.

She resisted at first, but Sherlock was adamant. Reluctantly, she relented.

A week passed relatively quickly at 221B. Living with Sherlock Holmes was surprisingly peaceful. At least for Molly. John departed after two days to return home to his wife and Molly and Sherlock were left alone. She was apprehensive about the atmosphere being awkward or strained, but her fears proved baseless. They easily fell into a routine that suited them both. Molly would make breakfast in the morning and Sherlock would eat it. Molly loved to cook. It was one of her absolute favorite hobbies. Perhaps it was the chemist in her, but something about mixing up precise measurements of different ingredients and the result being a delicious treat made her happy.

They would discuss progress in the case (not much of that so far), autopsies Molly performed throughout the day, and any experiments Sherlock was in the process of conducting. She was even treated to some hilarious anecdotes involving Mycroft.

Molly was escorted to and from Barts' by Lestrade's people and she continued to perform her duties at work as though nothing was wrong. It was a bit surreal. Once home for the evening, she would make dinner. Sometimes Sherlock skipped this meal and she did not begrudge him this. She understood that forcing one large meal into his system per day was a miracle in and of itself and that 2 EVERY day was pushing it. Either way, she always made enough for two and by the next morning the food she had stowed away in containers was nibbled on. Plus, even if he didn't eat he would sit beside her on the couch while she ate and stare off into nothingness, deep in his mind palace.

The first night they were alone and he broke from one of these trances, he apologized for ignoring her (she would later be informed by John that his apology was astounding).

"Don't be silly. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself for a couple of hours. What you're doing is important and if that is your method, feel free." The look he gifted her with was one of astonishment and gratitude.

"I must admit, I have never met anyone quite so understanding of that particular tendency."

Molly just shrugged it off. "Although, I am curious about it. Is it more like a computer data drive or an actual palace with dedicated rooms? And is there a guide?" At her last question, Sherlock fidgeted and cleared his throat answering a curt, "sometimes." (Little did she know he was recalling who exactly was the most common guide to appear in his head. The same guide that saved his life when he was shot.)

Every night she would settle down on the lumpy couch and every morning she would wake up in Sherlock's bed. She wasn't sure why they continued the farce, but it worked, so why fix it? She discovered that when he slept, if he slept at all, it was on the couch. This cycle repeated for a week, both occupants of 221B quite content.

Until one night, Molly dreamed...

_ She was in her Other form, prowling through a nameless jungle, her new-born cub secured safely in her jaws. She arrived back at her den and settled the cub down to sleep, licking sweet re-assuring kisses on its brow. After she was positive the cub was safe and sleeping, she returned to the entrance of the den to await her mate. Her big, strong, clever mate. _

_She didn't have to wait long. He soon came gliding into the den, his head gently butting against hers before rubbing his entire body down the length of hers, and setting his prize at her paws. A snake that had been plaguing their territory, threatening them and their cub with its venom and powerful coils. Her mate had beat him, destroyed the snake, and brought home its carcass to reassure her. _

_His sandy stripes and tawny mane shine in the light of the moon, his powerful body almost double the size of hers. He was all hers, this male. She watched him make his way over to the sleeping cub and nuzzle it, receiving a sleepy slap from a tiny paw for his efforts. He chuffed in amusement and returned to her. _

_She ran her body underneath his jaw and mane letting it caress the silky silver fur of the bold stripe running down her spine. He nipped playfully at her haunch for her teasing and was rewarded by her springing off into the jungle. Close enough to hear the cub if necessary, but far enough away for some much deserved privacy..._

Molly didn't remember the majority of the second half of the dream, but caught glimpses of morphing under the moonlight and human bodies writhing in sweat.

She woke up on fire. Not literally of course, but in every other sense of the word. Her breasts were full and heavy, her core dripping. Her skin was flushed and she panted trying to catch her breath. For a brief moment she panicked. If Sherlock was home, he would scent her. Her vivid dream had rendered the masking talents of her breed useless. She was exposed.

Luck was on her side though. After a cursory examination of the apartment, she discovered that he was indeed out. She knew Sherlock would never leave her unprotected, so she figured there was most likely a police officer down in Speedy's to keep an eye on her until his return.

Thankfully, this was her day off and she had nowhere pressing to be. She bundled up all of the sheets and her night-clothes and ran them through a wash cycle with twice the recommended amount of detergent. She used half a can of air freshener in Sherlock's room to dispel the rest of her scent and just barely managed to finish everything before he came home.

He looked almost frantic. "Is it ruined?! Damn, I cannot believe I forgot- I'm going to have to begin the entire experiment over-"he stopped mid-rant, discovering that his experiment was perfectly intact. He raised an eyebrow at Molly in question.

"I-I remembered you mentioning the fly carcass experiment yesterday at breakfast and how it was essential that the carcasses be removed from the fridge by 11 AM today. You weren't here, so I took them out for you and set hem on the windowsill just like you discussed."

He was staring at her, unblinking. She began twisting her hands, afraid she may have done something wrong.

"I'm sorry, I won't mess with anything again, I was just trying to help. I know how frustrating it can be when an experiment has to be re-started. I myself have-" She was cut off mid-sentence when Sherlock wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up so that their faces were at the same level.

He paused for the briefest of moments as if seeking her permission and then must have decided he didn't care. He proceeded to give her the absolute best kiss of her life. Forget Tommy Matheson from 1st year of Uni. That was child's play. This kiss was fire and ice and any other extreme element one could think of. His firm, smooth lips rested against hers for mere seconds before they began to move. It was precise, calculating, much like the man himself. He nipped her bottom lip and she gasped in surprise. He grunted in pleasure and his tongue jumped at the chance to delve into her mouth, searching out every cavern and frazzled nerve, his hands holding her to him as if she was a life raft and he a drowning man. It was control and abandon all at once.

Before Molly could really wrap her head around what was happening, it was over. He pulled away from her, his eyes shut tight and a strained look on his face. He slid her body down the length of his and Molly was violently reminded of her dream.

He did not release her once her feet were on solid ground. She blushed when she felt the evidence of his arousal against her lower stomach. He, however, seemed in no way embarrassed. In fact, she thought maybe he wanted her to _know_ what kind of effect she was having on him.

"What have you done to me, Molly Hooper?" His voice came out a velvety purr. But despite its pleased undertones, the question was like pouring a bucket of ice over her head. This was not real. This was biology. Sherlock would never kiss her like some conquering pirate. He didn't even see her that way. Not really.

She had to get out of there. It had been too long since she shed her human skin and let her Beast out to play and roam. She needed to find a safe place to Phase. She needed to get away from Sherlock before any more damage was done.

With tears glistening in her eyes, she used a small amount of Other strength and broke free of Sherlock's iron hold. She could tell she surprised him with her reaction and physical strength, but she didn't bother to ponder that. She turned on her heel and fled from the apartment, leaving a very confused- and very aroused- Sherlock behind.

From the shadows of Baker Street, Caine watched his target run like a bat out of hell from the home of the famous consulting detective. Caine was tired of waiting. He was ready for his next round of playtime. The Order had given him this assignment weeks ago and this woman was the last target on his list. He normally liked drawing things out. Hell, his victims all laid helpless for hours, knowing they were going to die, unable to do a thing about it, before he finally granted them death. Still... that Holmes character watched the female pathologist like a hawk, making it impossible for Caine to corner her. It was getting on his last nerve. Noting that for once, Ms. Hooper was not followed, Caine lifted the hood of his jacket to obscure his face and slipped into the night after her.

**Reviews and Favorites = Love and Encouragement.**


	5. Chapter 5

**BBC's Sherlock is not mine.**

Sherlock stood stunned. He tried to analyze everything that just occurred, but found for the first time in his existence, his mind over-loaded and glitchy. Warm skin, sweet lavender and Molly smell filling his nostrils, a pliant female body in his grasp with breasts pressed against his chest, and lips that were absolutely NOT too small surrendering beneath his. He felt his fangs lengthen and knew that if he ripped his clothes off and looked in a mirror, he would see bold stripes wrapping behind his torso and upper thighs ending in triangular points at his sternum, obliques, and quadriceps.

_Run. Chase._

No. Something is not right. She panicked and fled from me. Despite his immense deductive capabilities, he could not determine what went wrong. He remembered being swept away by a wave of affection for her after learning about her saving his fly experiment, one of the most considerate things anyone had ever done for him, and the next thing he knew, he was giving in to the temptation that had been plaguing him since he first set foot back in Barts' over a week ago.

All week she had shown herself to be a suitable flat mate and companion. Letting him talk through deductions, cooking for him, sharing her brilliant work with him, and even understanding his occasional need for privacy. She was not pushy or needy like so many other females he'd studied in the past.

She was simply...Molly. A presence that had always been there, hiding in the shadows of his mind, waiting for him to use when necessary and ignore at will. But the Fall changed something fundamental in him. He was still the same righteously arrogant, fiercely independent, and brilliant detective he'd always been. But there was something new. A desire to be MORE than himself. To allow shadowy presences like Molly's to shine through. John already worked his way into Sherlock's rusty heart as the best friend he never thought to have, and he was all the better for it.

He had even hinted as much to his brother Mycroft during their now infamous "goldfish" conversation. There was only problem. With the veil lifted from his metaphysical sight, Molly didn't just glow- she was radiant. Everything about her called to him. Both sides of him. The clever, witty, and bashfully dark-humored side of her appealed to his intellectual half. The man the world knew as Sherlock Holmes. But there was another aspect of Molly- a playful, challenging little sprite with claws to match, that beckoned the Beast in him like none before.

Even The Woman was lacking. Beautiful by modern standards of course and powerful in her own right, he was always more excited about meeting her on the battlefield than in the bedroom.

But Molly...she...counted. None had come close to the response she now garnered from him and his Beast. On this matter, they were in perfect union.

Despite popular belief, Sherlock was no virgin. He had been with women in the past. Many in fact. But that was before his slippery slide into the dark world of heroine. It took him years to beat that habit and when he did, he was determined to let nothing distract him from his work again, not even the pleasures of the flesh.

But Molly was not a distraction. He found she had the opposite effect. Her soothing presence calmed his racing mind enough to think clearly, come to logical concise conclusions quicker than he normally would. Even when he was aroused by her, which to his chagrin was _all the time_, he was content in that state. It felt right. He wanted to show her, take the next step in whatever was between them. He knew it would be a difficult road, her being human and unaware of the Other world around her. He wasn't even sure of the specifics or logistics yet. He just knew that he needed her. His Beast craved her. Not only in a sexual sense, though that was a fire in his core that refused to be doused, but in every other way.

He wanted Molly there every morning with him so he could watch her sing and dance her way around the kitchen while she cooked. He wanted to discuss his day with her and he wanted to hear about hers. What other woman would not only** never** complain about body parts in the fridge, but also buy a mini fridge and set it up next to the regular one to use for body parts so that the two wouldn't mix. For Galileo's sakes, she was bloody made for him. He wanted to come home to her every night and embrace her, wrap himself around her and shield her. He will never in his life willingly use the word cuddle to describe any of his actions, but something to that effect seemed appealing to him, as long as it was with Molly.

Him being Sherlock Holmes and arguably the most clever man in the world, this entire diatribe lasted mere minutes as he came to a decision. Molly was his. It was not something he had ever planned for, but that didn't matter. She had successfully worked her way into his system and he wasn't going to let her go.

Sweet Molly. His Molly. Who had just run away from him.

_Yes. Our female alone. Unprotected. Snake hunts her. GO!_

Sherlock needed no further urging. His body sprang into motion. He knew his fangs were still out and his eyes glowed for all the world to see. But this was London. Hopefully, no one would notice these slight physical alterations, especially at this time of night. He left 221B and scanned Baker Street for any sign of her. He didn't see her, even with his sharpened Other senses, but she only had a few minutes head start on him. He raised his upper gums, opened his mouth a fraction, and drew in the scents, searching for her specific thread.

There. Lavender and Molly and...that Feline smell again. Curious. No time to worry about that now. Must find her. He followed her trail and was soon at the mouth of a dark alley, her scent strong, when he heard a muffled scream. He took off down the alley, his gaze focusing on the scene before him. A large man, taller than Sherlock and as wide as an oak, was poised above a struggling Molly, a hypodermic needle in his hand poised at her throat. She was sprawled on the pavement, grasping her arm, and trying to fight back. There was blood. Her blood.

He roared in unholy rage, his Beast almost fully in control now. The sound echoed in the alley gaining the dead man's attention.

"Well, I'll be damned. Come to watch your little piece of ass get what's coming to her?"

Sherlock growled low in response. At this point the man finally looked up and saw the monster before him. Shoulder muscles growing, claws extending, and ferocious canines springing from his gums. Glowing amber eyes promising death.

_ATTACK. KILL._

Yes. Sherlock Phased and let the Beast free. Where once stood the world's only consulting detective, a man of sophistication and soaring intellect, now stood a full-blooded Legurian male in his prime. An impressive 6 feet tall, even on all fours, with a powerfully built frame of muscle and mass. A short mane surrounded his face and sandy tiger stripes painted most of his body. His muzzle dripped in anticipation as he prowled toward the man, inching him further and further away from his mate, who remained disturbingly quiet and still where she was. Once he stood over her in a protective stance, he used his peripheral senses to scan her. His curved ears twitched as he listened for her heartbeat. It was steady. Strong. He smelled blood, but not enough to be a life-threatening injury and he detected no toxin. So the Snake had not managed to poison her. Good.

The Snake circled around him and was inching toward the mouth of the alley, desperate to escape. The Beast lunged, tackling the giant of a man to the ground and tearing a good chunk out of his shoulder, before tossing him away. Despite his lumbering size, the human was fast. He used the momentum of his rolling body to his advantage, leveraging himself up and into the busy London streets, before the Beast could seize him again. Sherlock knew he could not follow. Not in this form. Humans could never know about the world of Others. It was their absolute law. The Beast tried to bound after the Snake and finish the job, but Sherlock managed to rein him in. Only just. And only by reminding the Beast that their female lie bleeding in the alley behind them.

_She needs us._

The Beast rumbled in agreement and padded back toward Molly who was now sitting up and trembling. The Beast assumed it was in fear of him and let out a low keening sound in an attempt to comfort her. To let her know that it could never hurt her. Would use all of its considerable might to protect her. Always.

_You need to let me take control. The immediate threat is gone. You did well. But we are going to lose her if I don't explain things...look, she's terrified._

The Beast conceded and slowly but surely with a shimmering of heat, Sherlock stood up on 2 feet back in his own body. Naked as the day he was born, but that still had to be more comforting to her than a 320 kg. jungle cat looming over her.

He looked down into her red-rimmed eyes fearing what he might find there. Judgement? Terror?

What he did find astounded him. He saw appreciation. Gratitude. Even admiration. There was fear there, but that seemed to stem more from the attempt on her life than his Other form. Was she daft or just ridiculously stalwart? Either way, this was not the reaction he predicted. And Sherlock Holmes prided himself on his accurate predictions. Apparently, Molly Hooper was exempt.

She wordlessly removed her coat and handed it to him. He nodded his thanks and wrapped it around his groin, but not before he caught her sneaking shy glances at his manhood.

"Really, Molly Hooper...You were just attacked by a crazed serial killer and rescued by a large lion/tiger hybrid which then proceeded to morph into the man you currently reside with, and your only reaction is to consider my endowment?" His attempt at livening the very dark situation was successful.

The corners of her mouth raised in watery smile. "How do you want me to react?" She hissed as she adjusted her arm and a new wave of blood came oozing out. He growled at the reminder of her injury, obviously from a knife the criminal must have had on his person. He proceeded to tear off a strip from the bottom of her t-shirt and wrap it tightly around her wound, telegraphing all of his movements so as not to alarm her. He noted that she never flinched from his touch. In fact, every time his fingertips grazed her skin, her trembling slowed.

"I don't know. Perhaps like any normal person would. Run screaming into the night, terrified out of your mind."

He watched her bow her head and could tell that she was having a serious internal debate. She wanted to tell him something, but didn't know how or if she even should. He fished her phone out of the jacket hanging low on his hips and sent a quick text to John to come and retrieve them and to bring a change of clothes for him and a first aid kit for Molly. He helped her to her feet and stood before her. Not moving. Waiting patiently for her to speak, despite being quite exposed on a chilly English night.

Finally, she looked up at him, resolve in every nuance of her face. What was she about to tell him? Why had she reacted so...calmly... to his Other form?

"I could never be afraid of you, Sherlock. Not even in your Legurian form." He jerked back in shock, his muscles freezing in disbelief. Had he misheard? No, he never misheard. There was no way she could know the proper term for what he was. Not unless she was...Impossible. He would have sensed it. But she proceeded to rock his foundation as she continued.

"After all, my kind have nothing to fear from yours. We were allies once. Long ago, before my people were hunted to the very brink of extinction for our exotic gifts." What on Earth? Obviously, she was Feline. That trace scent he'd been detecting recently; and foolishly ignoring. It was always around her. He thought he was misinterpreting something. He had to be.

He studied her face, looking for any sign of deception, but found none.

"What are you, Molly Hooper?"

She gave no vocal response. Instead, she elected to simply step back from him and Phase. A soft silver light emitted from her core, soon encompassing her entirely and moments later a creature stood before him that he had only ever heard of, one that was so rare, humans considered them to be myth. A body the size and shape of a panther's but with dark iridescent blue fur and a gleaming silver stripe down the spine. Her ears were pointed with tufts of hair covering them. Her slanted silver eyes rested above a graceful snout shaped much like a Lynx's. Her tail swirled behind her in a graceful arc as she paced a single lap, allowing him to study and identify her. If the visual wasn't enough, the unfamiliar yet completely intoxicating scent, no longer hidden from him, was enough to confirm his deduction.

His voice was barely a whisper and filled with reverance when he named her breed.

"Sphinx."

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

"What the hell, M? You didn't tell me Sherlock Holmes was Other too! And that they were mated?!" Caine squeezed the mobile, ready to break it beneath his meaty fist. If the blood loss hadn't weakened him so, he probably would have.

"Do calm down, sweetheart. If you were half as good at your job as you should have been, you would have figured out Holmes' true nature yourself. As for him being mated, I have it on the highest authority, that is not the case. So don't get your knickers in a twist."

Smarmy little bastard. "I'm telling you, I know a mated pair when I see one. I've killed enough of them to recognize it. If they're not mated yet, it isn't long in the making."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. "Is that so?...Well then, I will need some time to consider how this affects the game."

"You do whatever you want. I'm going to lick my wounds and when I'm strong enough, I'm going to hunt that little tart down and make her beg me for mercy while her filthy animal of a lover watches. Then I'll end him too."

His employer's tone turned serious. Deadly. "You will do no such thing. We at the Order were impressed with your resume and the first five kills you performed for us were admirable. We believed you could handle this one as well, but it is apparently above you. Take a break. We'll call you." The line abruptly disconnected.

Caine sneered. That little shit may be some kind of super-powerful criminal, but Caine was a Hunter. He killed those mangy bastards for a living. He had never let any kill escape his clutches. He wasn't about to start now.

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	6. Chapter 6

**BBC's Sherlock is not mine.**

The ride back to 221B would have been comical if not for Sherlock's dour mood. John and Mary sat in the front seat and kept sneaking unrepentant curious glances at the sleek midnight blue cat. The Sphinx was desperately trying to find a comfortable position in the back seat. Her breed may be small in comparison to his own, but she was still a big kitty. Plus, she was obviously avoiding any contact with the detective.

After a minute of struggle and a few adorable mews, Sherlock let out an impatient huff, and motioned the Feline toward him. She looked apprehensive but Sherlock laid a gentle hand at her scruff and guided her to a more comfortable position, draped casually over his lap. He began to run strong nimble fingers through her fur and Molly purred in pleasure. Her uninhibited reaction suggested that it had been some time since anyone indulged her in a good petting. Not since her parents during childhood, most likely.

Since John only brought one change of clothes and Molly's Other form was much easier to fit in John's automobile, they decide to travel this way. It was only a brief ride back to Baker Street after all. Despite its brevity, Sherlock took the opportunity to go over the facts in his head.

Molly was Other. Feline. Her breed: Sphinx. The rarest of all Others- this breed had certain gifts and physical traits which made them highly sought after by Profiteers and Hunters (small groups of humans who were aware of the Other world, but chose to use it or destroy it, rather than expose it). The last known colony of them was wiped out 27 years ago...Of course. Molly was 28 years old. Her father must have fled with his infant cub during the massacre. Undoubtedly, Molly's mother was killed early in the attack. No male would willingly leave their mate behind, even in death, unless there was a cub to care for.

Thinking on this horrific event made the detective realize that he and Molly's fates entwined long before he knew her. Sherlock's own parents were part of the team sent to aid the colony once the distress signal went out, but by the time they arrived, it was too late. One of his earliest memories was the night his parents returned from that mission. They were covered in blood and grime, sorrow etched deep in both of their faces. His father's voice from that night still resonated in a dark corridor of his mind palace.

_"What a tragedy. All of those lives, wasted, because of the greed and ignorance of a few men. An entire Breed, one of our most sacred, eradicated. In a single night."_ But his father was wrong. Two had escaped. And one remained.

She hid this truth from him, from everyone, for years. Likely, a caution drilled into her from infancy by her father. And justly so. The reality was that Molly could have easily perished the night of the massacre, and many times since, if she did not practice such cautious techniques. This went a long way toward cooling his anger concerning her deception. Hadn't he done a similar thing? Faking his own suicide to protect those he cared about ranked in the same category as Molly's self-preservation.

They arrived at 221B and managed to sneak Molly past Mrs. Hudson and into the secured privacy of Sherlock's den.

NO. _OUR_ DEN. Sherlock smiled at his Beast's insistence. The animal didn't are about Molly's charade. It had kept her hidden from those who would harm her. The Beast applauded her ingenuity.

SMART. GOOD PROTECTOR. MAKE FINE MOTHER FOR CUBS. Down, boy. No one said anything about cubs. Although... the thought of having a child with Molly wasn't entirely unappealing...Sherlock shook his head to clear it. Now was not the time to ponder the future.

Molly immediately made for his bedroom, reappearing after only a few minutes, clad in a s simple jeans/t-shirt combo, looking as if she was about to face a firing squad.

SILLY FEMALE.

Sherlock decided to alleviate her fears right off the bat. He reached her diminutive form in a few broad strides and scooped her up into the warmth of his embrace. She accepted his peace-offering beautifully, looping her arms around his chest and nuzzling into the hollow of his neck. After a few comforting strokes of her spine, he pulled back, tucking her underneath his arm and leading her to his chair. He sat her down and draped a blanket across her lap, kneeling down in front of her so that she had the height advantage. In the wild, especially with big cats, this was a significant gesture. She had the high ground; she controlled the situation.

He heard John and Mary taking up positions behind him in John's chair settling in for a good explanation: why one of their best friends had been hiding her true self from them for so long. Being Ursuline, they had most likely heard of the Sphinx, but were far removed from the tragic fate of Molly's breed.

Sherlock tried to comfort her, "I messaged Lestrade. He has units out patrolling for your attacker. I told him there was an altercation and that his shoulder was severely injured...Even so, I doubt Lestrade and the rest of New Scotland Yard will catch him. He was a clever fellow, despite his buffoonish appearance."

John cleared his throat, "Right, well, you're safe now Molly. That bastard is no threat here."

"Quite right. I will catch him, Molly. I swear to you. I WILL protect you." Sherlock assured her.

John smiled down at Sherlock and gave Molly a conspiratorial wink. "And that's the SECOND vow he's made in his life."

Sherlock nodded solemnly at his friend and looked up to Molly, waiting for her to speak.

She began softly. "I'm not sorry." He nodded, urging her to continue. "I mean, I'm sorry if I hurt any of your feelings by keeping this from you, but I refuse to be sorry for protecting myself and all of you in the best way I saw fit." Her tone was defensive.

"Protecting us? What are you talking about Molly? How could knowing what you are have endangered us?" Mary was desperate to understand her best friend's deception. Sherlock knew the two had grown close while he was away dismantling Moriarty's network, and while he too wished Molly would have confided in him, he would not allow the bear to make her feel guilty, so he addressed the Sow directly.

"Simple, Mary- allies of the Sphinx were often hunted and tortured into revealing locations and capabilities, until out of fear for their own breeds, they abandoned their Sphinx brethren: a secret shame of the Feline world. Molly assumed we were safest in an ignorant state." Molly nodded in confirmation.

Mary acknowledged Sherlock's explanation but spoke to her best friend, "I don't break easy Molly. I told you at least a bit about my dangerous life. Why couldn't you afford me the same courtesy?"

"i could not bring the constant fear of my own life into yours, Mary. I find I am not so selfish." Molly's eyes were pleading with her friend to understand.

Mary studied Molly as if seeing her for the first time. She nodded, resigned. "FIne, Molly, but if you ever hide something like this from me again, I'll show you what a Sow like myself can do to a pretty little house cat like you."

Molly and Mary both broke into laughter and tears at this, meeting in the middle of the room to share a hug in reaffirmation of their friendship.

FEMALES. Sherlock sensed his Beast shaking his head in exasperation.

THEY CRY ALL THE TIME, EVEN WHEN HAPPY AND FULL. Indeed.

"So?" Mary questioned, breaking the hug.

"So, what?" Molly asked, confused.

"So, are there anymore lies or secrets you've been keeping from me that you need to get out?" Mary meant it as a joke but her friend responded in earnest.

"Um...no...well, actually there is one more thing." Everyone in the room tensed at this wondering what other secrets Molly could possibly reveal. But she wasnt paying them any attention, caught in one of her infamous rambles. "I've never been with anyone. Intimately, I mean. I know I told you that I was experienced, but that was a lie, mainly to get out of making up excuses as to why your approaching-thirty-best friend was still a virgin..." here Molly's mind seemed to finally catch up with her mouth. She turned an alarming scarlet color and covered her face with her hands, obviously mortified.

Sherlock could feel his heart rate speed up.

FEMALE IS UNTOUCHED? NO ONE ELSE'S. OURS! Sherlock wanted to scold his Beast for its barbaric pleasure at Molly's state, but found to his slight shame, that he felt the same. He would never begrudge her former lovers, as that would be the height of hypocrisy, but discovering that she had none sent a possessive shiver down his spine. He cleared his throat, preparing to soothe her embarrassment, but Mary spoke before he could.

"What?! But...Tom..."

"Yes, the day of John's stag night, you specifically told me that you and that _man_ were having intercourse. A significant amount in fact." Sherlock reminded her, and couldn't help the dangerous growl in his voice.

"Stay out of it mate," John muttered.

Molly's face was still buried in her hands when she responded, "Ugh, why do I always say the most ridiculous things? Always."

One deep breath later and she raised her head, "Okay...my breed has several distinct gifts. We can mask our smell and if we work at it, we can mask someone in close proximity to us. It was meant as a defense mechanism for us and our young, but Profiteers saw the opportunity to harvest Sphinx glands and make it a product for sale. That's just one of several natural gifts my kind possess. Our saliva has curative properties, we can detect bloodlines, both in humans and Others. Sherlock, its how I knew you and your brother were Legurian. Mary, I knew you and John were Brown Bears from the off. Plus, our coats are heavily insulated despite their light weight..."

While Sherlock was fascinated by all of these revelations, he knew Molly was trying to get somewhere. "Molly, why are you telling us all this?"

"Because, there are other, more mythical properties of my breed. For example: to take the maidenhead of a female Sphinx is said to bring great happiness and fortune to the lucky male. It made innocence a gift from every female to their chosen male on the night of their Chase. It was a sacred tradition among my people and, as hokey as it sounds, it made me feel closer to my breed to adhere to it. A breed I have never known, other than the tales my father told me." Molly finished her little speech with a defensive tilt of her chin.

Sherlock came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, lowering his head to nuzzle the soft patch of skin just below her ear. "No one is judging you. It is not our place." He finished with a warning rumble in Mary's direction.

Mary was quick to reassure her friend. "No, of course not. I say, good on ya. I'm sure it'll make one lucky male very happy." Sherlock tightened his arms around Molly's waist, a little offended at the vague nature of Mary's statement. One lucky male? Indeed. THIS lucky male. His Beast purred in agreement.

Molly removed his hands from her waist and stepped away, leaving him cold and confused.

"Sherlock, all of these reactions you've been having to me...they are..." She couldn't meet his eyes. Just twisted her hands so hard, he thought she may rub her skin raw. "They aren't real. It is a delicate time. I am...in the height of...of..."

"Quocalor." Sherlock finished for her, nonplussed. She jerked her head up and met his stare. Finally.

"How did...how did you know that?"

"I may have been more open recently, but I am still me. As soon as you revealed your Other self to me, I put the pieces together. All week, I have noted irregularities. Flushed skin at random times. Disappearing into the bathroom even though you just came out. I've caught you purposefully rubbing against the corners of the wall on at least 4 separate occasions. Your skin is highly sensitized. In the context of you being human, all of these factors indicate illness or more-likely severe pre-menstruation symptoms. However, knowing that you are an unmated female Feline in her sexual prime, these clues all point to one logical conclusion. You are experiencing a Quocalor cycle." He gathered her in his arms again, refusing to allow this distance between them to persist.

"If you know what I am going through, then you know that what you're feeling for me- this attraction- it's not genuine. The pheromones I emit are powerful, enough to break minute traces through my masking abilities, and you are reacting." She seemed so sad. And sure that he would reject her.

REASSURE HER. SHE NOT UNDERSTAND.

He used both of his hands to gently cradle her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Molly Hooper, I recognize the effects of your potent pheromones. _Trust me_, I do. But you are a fool to think that is why I pursue you." Her eyes widened in surprise. "I have been around other females in heat and was not affected so. Your pheromones and natural sensuality tempt me, sweet pathologist, to the very brink of begging for the right to sheath myself inside you." He heard John sputter at this and Mary chuckled. "That's what I _want_. Desperately. But what I _need_ is _you_. Your brilliant mind, your beautiful smiles, even your socially inappropriate humor, rivaled only by my own. _All of you_, my little Sphinx."

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

Molly read the honesty in his eyes. It seemed too good to be true, but here it was, everything she'd ever wanted, hers for the taking. She didn't hesitate. She closed the small distance between their mouths and showed him how deeply she reciprocated his feelings- in the best way she knew how.

She smoothed her hands through his beautiful mane, anchoring him to her. Sherlock was just as thorough and dominant in this kiss as he was in the first one, slanting his mouth over hers, his tongue demanding entrance. He spread the fingers of one hand wide on her lower back pulling her impossibly closer, the other hand gathering molly's hair and gently using the leverage to tilt her head and give her mouth a proper ravaging. She was lost to his passion.

"Ahem, yes, well that's our cue."

Molly broke away from him, causing him to chuff in displeasure. "Oh John! Mary! How rude of us!"

Mary waved away her apology. "Nonsense. I'm just relieved to see you two crazy cats getting your act together finally. We'll just be going then. Come on, John." She dragged her floundering husband out by the elbow, John offering a weak, "Call me tomorrow, Sherlock" for a farewell. The Ursuline Bull was obviously taken aback by this development. Not displeased. Just...surprised.

Once they were gone, Sherlock led Molly into the kitchen. She wondered what he was up to. More earth-shattering kisses? Work on one of their experiments? She was pleasantly surprised when Sherlock heated up left overs from the fridge and placed the plate in front of her.

"Eat. It has been a difficult day and your body is in a state of hormonal flux. You need the protein." He provided food for her?

SWEET MALE. GOOD MALE.

After dinner, they made their way to Sherlock's bedroom. He granted her privacy while she changed into her PJs, heading to the bathroom for his own nightly ablutions. Molly fell into the bed, her body giving in to the rigors of the Phase, her arm sore from the attack. A few minutes later, she felt the bed dip and a warm hard body was pressing against the length of hers. She tensed in surprise, but soon relaxed. He knew her desire to remain chaste until her official Chase and she trusted him to respect her wishes.

"Are you going to kick me out of your bed?"

She giggled. "Its _your_ bed, silly man. And no. I am content with this arrangement if you are."

"Quite content, I assure you. And its _our_ bed, Molly."

Her stripe must have darkened in reaction to his declaration, because Sherlock began stroking the top part peeking out from her pajamas.

He placed a gentle kiss on the broadest point of the stripe at the base of her neck. She grabbed his arm and brought it around her waist, anchoring herself to him.

His smooth baritone whispered into the quiet moment, "My brother will be visiting us tomorrow, Molly. He wants to meet you. I tried to dissuade him, but he was determined."

She nodded. "That's fine. I like Mycroft."

He lifted himself up on one elbow (she thought he was searching her face for signs that she was joking) and scoffed in disbelief. "No one _likes_ my brother. They tolerate him."

"Don't be mean. He's a good man. A lot like you in some ways. I think he's just lonely."

"I will leave you to your misinterpretations." He kissed her brow and settled back down.

"Goodnight, Molly."

"Sweet dreams, Sherlock."

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	7. Chapter 7

**AN: This is a little teaser chapter for you, my awesome readers. Should have another- EXTREMELY IMPORTANT )- chapter coming up later tonight, but I love Mycroft Holmes and this little jewel was delightful to write. Enjoy.**

**BBC's Sherlock is not mine.**

The enticing aroma wafting from the kitchen of 221B teased Mycroft's rumbling stomach as he made himself comfortable in his brother's sitting room. Sherlock sat across from him plucking fretfully at the strings of his violin. Dark shadows graced his features and he had not bothered to comment on Mycroft's new umbrella. An umbrella with a spring-loaded blade and GPS device located in the handle. Truth be told, he was rather looking forward to Sherlock commenting on his new toy. It would allow him to show it off. This Undertaker case must be getting to him. Then again, his brother's mood could also be affected by the Sphinx currently prancing around in his kitchen.

She came into the sitting room bearing a tray of tea and pastries. "Here we are." She poured Mycroft a tea to his specifications and offered him a pastry. He was sorely tempted. They smelled positively scrumptious, but his diet was going so well...she must have sensed his hesitation because she plowed on, "They're fat-free."

Mycroft raised his eyebrow at her. She blushed prettily and explained, "Sherlock told me you were visiting today. I remember him mentioning at some point that you were trying to drop a few pounds and I know how frustrating that can be, so I baked these this morning. My recipe is good on the taste buds and the waist line." She giggled at her joke and Mycroft indulged her with a sardonic smile.

"You didn't have to go the trouble, Doctor Hooper." Even as he spoke he plucked a pastry and a napkin from the tray, preparing for disappoint. In his experience, these healthy 'treats' never came close to the real thing. He took a small bite..._Oh my._

"Please, call me Molly, and it was no trouble at all."

Mycroft finished the pastry in seconds and reached for another one. "Doctor H...Molly, have you ever considered a career in the culinary arts? I am aware of an opening in the Diogenes club for a chef and..." Sherlock's bark of laughter interrupted his genuine invitation to the pathologist.

Molly shook her head. "No, Mr. Holmes. I love to cook, but pathology is my true calling. Thank you for the compliment though."

He nodded his head, disappointment clear in his features. "Very well then, onto business. My brother tells me a very curious thing. He believes you are the last of a supposedly extinct breed."

She nodded. "I am." At her soft tone, Sherlock set down his violin and grabbed her wrist, tugging her to him. She settled on a pillow in front of him and he rested his hand at the nape of her neck. Mycroft chose not to comment on this display of affection.

"Forgive me, but I find that hard to believe. I have a highly developed sense of smell, more than the average Other and I have never detected anything but human in you. Even now, as you sit before me, I scent nothing special." Mycroft caught a glimpse of fang from Sherlock.

"Watch your tone, Mycroft."

"No, its alright, Sherlock. Masking my scent is second nature to me. I didn't realize I was doing it now. Why didn't you remind me?" She asked Sherlock, pinching his thigh in admonishment, but he only grinned at her. Good heavens, was that a_ loving_ glance his brother was giving her? This was serious indeed.

Mycroft watched her close her eyes and concentrate. Moments later, a potent scent filled his nostrils. It's heady nature took him by surprise so violently that he was moving toward her before he could sort out his reactions, his skin warming with a Phase. Sherlock leapt up, stripes darkening and claws extending, a roar ripping from his throat. It was enough to snap Mycroft out of it. He moved back away from a wide-eyed Molly and a glowering Sherlock and took a moment to compose himself. He turned away and shut his eyes, allowing his mind and his Beast to process the scent.

FEMALE FELINE. Unfamiliar breed.

IN HEAT. Yes, but entirely off-limits. His Beast seemed to consider this. NOT OURS? No. CHALLENGE? Absolutely not. The opposing male would be our brother. The Beast shook his mane and hissed at that. NEVER. Neither Mycroft nor his Beast had any desire to hurt their brother. In fact, from the moment Sherlock was born, they had made it their life's mission to protect the rambunctious cub, despite his best efforts.

Having comported himself, he turned to offer apologies and found a most unsettling sight. His brother was still semi-phased and watching him, keeping a flustered Molly positioned behind him.

"Forgive me, I was...not expecting that." Mycroft began in what he hoped was a soothing tone.

Sherlock's only response: his upper lip lifted to expose elongated fangs.

"Please, Sherlock, its okay." Molly's voice. She moved around him keeping her body pressed against Sherlock's the entire time, until she was in front of him, his face in her hands. "I'm okay, nothing happened. It was just a misunderstanding." She turned to Mycroft now, Sherlock's left hand coming down on her waist, his right still poised in a defensive position, claws sharp and sprung. "Right, Mr. Holmes?"

Mycroft nodded. Her scent still affected him, but it was different now. Her presence was settling into another sector of his conscience.

SISTER, his Beast thought. Interesting.

"Of course. I...I'm sorry." The apology stuck in his throat, but he supposed it was deserved. He did just lunge at his brother's prospective Pria after all. He retook his seat, giving Sherlock the high ground.

This seemed to do the trick. Mycroft watched in undisguised fascination as his brother reined in his Beast and moved to stand behind the chair Molly was making herself comfortable in.

After several minutes, Sherlock spoke. "Right, so we can skip the disbelief stage, correct?" he sneered at his brother. Mycroft twitched his head and rolled his eyes in agreement. "Very well, lets move on. Molly is the last of the Sphinx, a breed our own parents tried to help, albeit unsuccessfully. Should her identity be uncovered, she would be in danger from Profiteers and Hunters. Not to mention, there is a serial killer who has a taste for pathologists, attacking her on the streets."

"You forgot to mention the part where you have taken a_ beyond friendly_ interest in her, brother dear." Expecting his brother to bristle at the implication, Mycroft was taken aback by Sherlock's next comment.

Sherlock scoffed. "Don't be obvious, Mycroft. Of course I have. In fact I intend to take her as my Pria at the next full moon in two and a half weeks time. Now, moving on-"

Molly looked to be in a mild form of shock. She jumped up and stared at Sherlock incredulously, hands on her hips. "Sherlock!"

"What?"

She stammered, seemingly unable to collect her thoughts, "Ugh! You can't just say things like that!'

"Nonsense. Its fact. The Undertaker is hunting you and we must take measures to keep your nature hidden from those blasted Hunters-"

She interrupted him again, "No Sherlock! not that! The other thing you said!"

Mycroft watched Sherlock search his memory for what he could have said to garner this reaction from the female.

DUMB BROTHER. Quite.

Mycroft saw the moment it hit him. "Oh, the Pria bit?"

"Bingo," Molly growled out.

"Not good? You deny my proclamation?"

Molly threw her hands in the air in exasperation. "Not the content per say, but the manner was most definitely 'not good'."

"How so?" Poor Sherlock. His brother seemed genuinely confused, a condition that Mycrfot knew Sherlock did not handle well. No matter, the increasingly impressive woman cleared things up quickly.

"It's the female's choice Sherlock. _I_ have to issue the challenge. _If_ I want you as my Prius, then I run and you chase. You can't just declare it!"

Sherlock was around the chair and crowding the Pathologist in the blink of an eye. His voice was low and intimate. "And will you Molly? Will you offer me a Chase at the full moon?"

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was beginning to feel a bit like a voyeur.

"I don't know. To be a Prius is a lifetime commitment. You would be tied to me, and only me, forever. It all seems a bit sudden, doesn't it?" Mycroft wasn't sure who she was trying to convince- Sherlock or herself.

Sherlock turned toward the window, hands in his pockets, but answered her, as confident as ever. "Sweet Molly. Consider the evidence. I decided John Watson would be my partner after speaking with him for 3 minutes in the lab of St. Bart's. I planned and executed my own death and multi-year mission within a day of deducing Moriarty's scheme." He paused and turned to her, sincerity burning in his eyes. "I have known you for years. Accepted my attraction to you months ago when I watched you with _Tom. _I've known for over a week that you, and only you, could satisfy me, both romantically and in a domestic capacity. More than satisfy. Enrapture."

Mycroft thought the clinical method his brother employed would serve him ill in his pursuit of the female. But he was soon proven wrong. Molly smiled at the consulting detective and moved into his embrace. Sherlock immediately buried his nose in her hair. _Well, I'll be damned._ She accepted that as a romantic proposition? It seemed his brother had found the one woman on Earth compatible with him and all of his eccentricities. Mycroft found himself wishing them all the happiness they could find in this cruel world. Not that he would ever admit this out loud.

Sherlock raised his head to address his brother, "So, brother, about Molly's protection?"

Mycroft cleared his throat. He called him 'brother'?" Sincerely? _Show no emotion. No emotion_. "Of course. Well, once she bears your Mark, it will go a long way toward warding off the majority of evil-doers. Not all of them mind you, further measures will need to be taken for the truly dangerous lot, but still...Until the full moon, she is quite vulnerable. And then there is this 'Undertaker' character. Do you know his connection?"

"Not yet. But I will. Soon. I'm beginning to wonder if there isn't more to his case than I thought. You will assign a detail to her, one worthy of trust?"

SISTER. PROTECT. "Of course, I..." Molly interrupted him. It would seem that was a bad habit of hers.

"You know, I am capable of defending myself. My Other form may be smaller than you overgrown lot, but I can still protect myself."

"Do not take offense, Molly. These precautions are necessary. We may heal far faster than humans due to our higher metabolisms, but we are not invulnerable. Please. For me?" Oh Sherlock was really turning on the charm now. Mycroft found himself delightfully entertained.

She rolled her eyes but gave Sherlock a quick peck on the lips. "Oh go on then. You two would do whatever you felt was necessary even with out my blessing, so I'm going to give it and pretend that it made a difference.

_Clever girl indeed._

She picked up the tray bearing the remainder of the tasty pastries and Mycroft was sad to see them go. He stood to leave, gathering up his umbrella and coat. "I will make all the arrangements and be in touch." Sherlock then did something that he had not done since childhood. He grabbed Mycroft's hand in a brief shake. Mycroft was so stunned, that he almost missed the next, equally astounding moment.

"Thank you, Mycroft." For once in his life, Mycroft was speechless. Molly chose this moment to re-enter.

"Here you go. I've packed the rest of the pastries in a container for you. I've also added some little gourmet sandwiches. They too are fat free and quite good if I do say so myself. Diet or not, we cannot have you going hungry. You work too hard for that." Mycroft nodded in stunned appreciation and left 221B before he could embarrass himself and tackle the poor girl in a hug. Plus, that would most likely lead to another incident. Until she could be properly Chased and Claimed, Sherlock's Beast would be too close to the surface to allow such contact.

SWEET SISTER. Indeed. Mycroft would have to show his appreciation and burgeoning affection in the best way he saw fit. By turning the considerable resources at his disposal to her protection.

Molly Hooper may not be aware of it, but she and her delicious cooking had just made a staunch ally of the most powerful man in Great Britain.

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	8. Chapter 8

**AN: For mature audiences only. And...here...we...go...**

**BBC's Sherlock is not mine.**

Two and a half weeks passed without a hitch at 221B. John and Mary helped them move all of Molly's things into the apartment and Sherlock found to his pleasure that Molly's decorative tendencies suited his aesthetic tastes. She favored Earth tones and her China set had geometric swirls and not the pink flowery design one might expect. While she set up a more organized system for some of his things, she didn't get rid of anything, didn't even try to. At one point he got nervous when she picked up his skull, but all she did was shine it and place it right back in its place on the mantelpiece.

She told him she was nervous about breaking her lease and any fees she may be forced to pay, but all it took was one phone call to Mycroft and her Landlord not only capitulated to an early lease termination but Molly also got the entirety of her deposit back. The biggest surprise came though when they went to retrieve Toby. Mycroft had been keeping the cat and was reluctant to return him. They found the cat curled up in a luxurious pet bed in the corner of Mycroft's office, content as could be. A set of sterling silver bowls filled with gourmet cat food and spring water was nearby. Sherlock could have sworn he even saw a small toy on Mycroft's desk before it was shoved hastily out of sight.

"Ahem, yes, well I suppose you are here to take him back with you." Toby chose this moment to twist himself around Mycroft's legs and settle in between them.

Molly smiled, "Actually, we were hoping you could keep him for a while longer. Things are just so crazy right now and I would sleep easier if I knew he was in a stable environment for a while. Indefinitely in fact. I hate to impose, its just- he is obviously happy here."

Mycroft's face didn't budge, but Sherlock saw his eyes crinkle with giddiness. She was so generous, his future Pria.

"Well, if you insist..."

Other aspects of their lives were not so bright and cheerful. No progress was made on the Undertaker case. It was like the man just vanished off the face of the planet. He and John took on a number of small cases in the mean time, enough to keep his mind sharp and off of the constant state of arousal he was in. All Molly had to do was let out a breathy little sigh or lay a caressing hand on his body and he found himself hard as a rock. He knew she was just as bad off. Some mornings she would wake up panting and rubbing her lithe body against his, desperate for something she could not name. He was tempted to use his considerable powers of persuasion to convince her that she needed to let him bring her to release using non-phallic methods. But this was impossible. She was so far gone in her Quocalor that she would be unable to deny ultimate completion. In fact, she would beg for it. His self awareness was clear enough to understand that he absolutely could NOT refuse her and she may regret it later. So they waited. It was torture.

The morning of the full moon, Sherlock woke up late to an empty bed. At first, he thought nothing of it. Molly often woke before him to shower and make breakfast. Through the haze of waking, Sherlock realized his Beast was desperately trying to get his attention.

FEMALE GONE. SCENT FADED. WHERE FEMALE?

That was a good question. Sherlock sprang from the bed, his brain firing on all cylinders now. He did a sweep of the flat and found it empty. No Molly. He checked downstairs with Mrs. Hudson, but Molly was not there either. Where was she? He knew Lestrade had no one on her. Sherlock had informed him personally that for a few days, Molly had no need of police protection.

FIND HER. _I'm trying._

He phoned John, frantic, and explained the situation. John began speaking but Sherlock tuned him out, having just noticed something on the back of 221B's door. It was a note. He plucked it down and read it. Four words. Four simple words that sent all available blood straight to his groin.

Come and get me.

John's voice broke through his fog of lust, "I'm coming. I'll be there in a few minutes-"

"No." Sherlock heard the change in his voice. It was lower. Darker.

"No?"

"Everything's fine, John."

He could sense John's confusion over the line. "Oh, well, if you're sure..."

"Quite sure. This is one puzzle I need to solve alone," Sherlock informed him, a broad predatory grin splitting his face. The hunt was on. And the prize was the most important one of his life.

He hung up the phone and set to work analyzing the note. It was small. Half the size of his palm. There was something familiar about the card stock used. It was thick, durable paper close to cardboard in composition. Cut around the edges. Its original shape would have given it away then. One side of it was bleached, also to conceal its original purpose. But Sherlock knew of a technique that could recover any indentations on the paper made by pen. He set up the lab in his kitchen and performed the procedure. After what felt like hours of waiting but was in reality a few minutes, Sherlock had his clue. Traces of a name, weight, hair and eye color, and bits of what looked like a case number...Of course! It was a toe tag! Molly had told him that St. Bart's recently transferred over to the more commonly used wrist and ankle band identification process, but still had stacks of unused toe tags lying around the morgue. He recognized the tag. It was from the corpse he performed the riding crop experiment on. He chuckled softly. Molly's morbid humor knew no bounds.

He dressed quickly, donning his Belstaff and scarf and made his way out to Baker Street to hail a cab. His next stop- Molly's morgue.

When he arrived at Bart's, he went directly to the morgue and no one tried to stop him. He had become a common presence here over the last month, never keen to be away from Molly for too long, especially after the attack. He searched the morgue and the connected lab but found no trace of Molly besides occasional whiffs of her scent. She did spend a lot of time there after all. He was beginning to wonder if he misinterpreted the card when something caught his eye in the lab. There was something off about microscope on the back table. The same one he had been using when she offered to help him during the Reichenbach tragedy. When she saw through every barrier he'd ever erected. He approached the microscope and saw that there was an occupied slide already in place. Molly was very meticulous in her work. SHe would never be so sloppy as to leave something out like this. It must be his next clue.

He sat down and began to work immediately, not even bothering to remove his coat. He studied the sample and identified what he could. Vegetation. Reminiscent of a fern. Too broad. He needed to narrow it down. Two hours later and finally, FINALLY, Sherlock had a result. Lycopodium.

TOOK TOO LONG. FEMALE WAITING FOR US. _Yes well, Id like to see you identify a plant by one single sample and with only a microscope and no computer analysis._

Lycopodium. Sherlock decided to skip searching his mind palace (though it did ring a bell) and went straight for the search bar on his phone. _Lycopodium- its spores are used to create lycopodium powder, historically the most common substance in fingerprint powder._ The answer hit him like a ton of bricks. Oh she was a cruel woman. Today of all days she was going to make him see...

"Anderson!" Thirty minutes and another cab ride later, Sherlock was barging into the CSI unit of New Scotland Yard, startling Anderson so badly he nearly dropped his coffee. He had to admit, the dunce of a scientist had been slightly more tolerable ever since Sherlock's return from the dead. When he discovered that Anderson not only formed a club to discuss his ingenuity, but also spear-headed the eventual campaign to reclaim his good name, Sherlock was both highly annoyed and a little touched. Either way, he had no patience for the man today.

"Christ, Sherlock, you frightened me. Came close to messin' myself." Anderson said as he wiped a few drops of coffee on his shirt front, only serving to smear it deeper into the fabric.

Sherlock's lip lifted in disgust. "Charming." Sherlock waited a few moments for Anderson to give him the next clue, but the man said nothing. Just stood silent, the same dumb expression he usually wore plastered on his face.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Where is it? The clue, where's my next clue?"

Anderson shook his head. "Sherlock, I have no idea what you're bloody talking about."

Sherlock checked the time on his phone. It was already 6 PM. He slammed his fist on a nearby table. "Don't lie to me, Anderson! Where is the clue?"

Anderson threw his hands in the air and was about to respond when there was a knock on the door. A young man in a biker's helmet popped in. "I've got a delivery for Phillip Anderson."

"Huh?. I didn't order anything."

The courier shrugged. "Sign here please, sir."

Anderson accepted the package and brought it to the table. Sherlock and his Beast recognized the smell coming from the box.

Before Anderson could protest, Sherlock snatched the bakers box from him and opened it. Caramel eclairs. Molly's favorite. From a café in the lobby of the Bohemian Inn, located near the shore a few miles outside of Canterbury. A respectable establishment run by an Equine couple, the Inn was secluded, surrounded by acres of woodland. The family took great pride in ensuring their guests the ultimate in privacy and comfort for all of their Other needs. The only reason Sherlock knew about it was because he had worked a case there just a week ago for the owners. Their young Foal had gone missing and Sherlock was the one to recover him (turns out the teenager just went on a drinking binge and ended up out of his depth.) The case was barely a five and the main reason Sherlock counted it as a success was because of the eclairs he brought home to Molly from the Inn's café. She made the most delightful sounds while eating them. Her pleasure was so intense that Sherlock found himself half jealous of the pastries.

Without another word, Sherlock stormed from Anderson's office, bumping into Lestrade on his way out.

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"What was that about?" Lestrade asked.

Anderson's mouth opened and shut a few times before he could finally answer. "I have no idea. Oh well, at least I have some yummy morsels to indulge in."

Just as Anderson went to grab an eclair, Sherlock swept back in and scooped up the box of pastries.

"Hey those are mine!"

But Sherlock was already half-way down the hall when he responded. "No they're not, Anderson."

"Well that was rude." he commented to Lestrade.

Lestrade just shook his head and left. This was most definitely NOT his division.

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The sun was setting. The full moon would be rising soon. Sherlock's skin felt like there was an inferno raging beneath it. His body begged for a Phase.

CHASE. MUST CHASE HER.

He knew where to go, but he had no suitable method of transportation. The journey was almost two hours by cab and he would be hard pressed to even find a cabbie willing to make that trip at this hour. A bus perhaps? He shivered. The thought of being around so many people for an extended length of time was off-putting on a normal day, but in his current state, he wasn't entirely certain the trip wouldn't end in blood shed...

His thoughts were interrupted by the thump-thump-thump sound indicative of helicopter rotors in flight. Sure enough, he looked up from the street and saw a sleek black unmarked chopper land on the helipad of New Scotland Yard's roof. He ran back into the building and up the stairs, emerging onto the roof top just as his brother was climbing out of the chopper.

"Thought you might need a lift." Mycroft obviously found humor in his brother's predicament and Sherlock couldn't fault him for it.

"What will it cost me?"

"Does it matter?"

"No." No hesitation. He was getting on that helicopter one way or another.

"You will name your first born after me."

Sherlock scowled. "Don't push it, Mycroft."

"Oh very well. You wont owe me anything. Just go. And don't screw it up."

Sherlock boarded the craft and was ready for take off but he needed to ask Mycroft one more thing. "How did you know to be here? And with a means of transportation?"

Mycroft's smile could only be described as conspiratorial. "A little Sphinx told me."

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By the time the helicopter set down in a small clearing on the Inn's property, it was already dark. Sherlock departed the vehicle, careful of the spinning rotors. The pilot did not dally, just made sure Sherlock was a safe distance away and took off back into the night.

Her scent hit him first. It was a heady combination of lavender, and Molly, and pure feminine need. His stripes darkened fully and his eyes melted into a golden glow, fangs and claws lengthening in response to her.

He searched the edge of the clearing with his sight and...THERE. He spotted her at the Northeast corner of the clearing a few feet from the forest. He stalked toward her and stopped within twenty feet when she held up her dainty little hand. This close, he saw that she wore only a light robe. Just enough to preserve basic modesty.

NOT FOR LONG._ Patience, Beast. Not much longer now._

He was the first to break the silence, his raspy timber having an immediate effect on her, if her deepening scent was anything to go by. "You've led me on a merry chase, Molly Hooper." As he spoke, he began to disrobe, uncaring of his nudity. He wanted her to see his stripes. The enormity of the effect she had on him.

Her voice ripped through him like a missile, soft and breathy and full of want. "Oh no, Mr. Holmes. That was just foreplay. After all what sort of Pria would I be to you if I didn't challenge your mind as well."

She unties the robe and it falls in a puddle at her feet. She was beyond description. Utterly beautiful. Her tone turns serious, formal- ritual words that have been used for thousands of years, hundreds of generations of Others pouring from her delectable lips, "Under the light of this full moon, I offer myself to you. Body, mind, heart, and soul. Should you prove worthy, I will take your body into my own, your heart placed in the care of mine. Bearing your Mark will signify your love and protection of me. Do you accept these terms?"

The ritual response came from a place deep within him. A spiritual core that he had denied for so long. "With all due ferocity and truth, I accept."

She offered him a saucy smile, easing the tension of the moment. "Very well then, my love." He saw her body tense. Calculated which direction she would take, his detective's eye missing nothing. "_Chase me."_ She Phases and takes off into the forest, Sherlock's Legurian form hot on her heels.

They wove through the trees, fallen branches and other debris crunching beneath their paws. Molly's smaller body gave her one up in dexterity, but Sherlock's massive stride equaled two of hers. He used this to his advantage. Unmercifully. They ran for several minutes, her Sphinx and his Legurian enjoying the opportunity to finally be united. He closed in on her a few times, swiping at her haunches (claws not extended of course). She always wriggled away before he could get a solid hold. This play amused him and his Beast for a short time, but soon, they decided playtime was over. Sherlock raised his shoulders and lowered his head, streamlining his body for a burst of speed. He focused on her bright silver stripe, and pounced. She snarled in surprise, pinned underneath his heavy weight. She writhed beneath him in a half-hearted attempt to escape. He nipped her shoulder and growled, demanding her surrender. She stilled and began to purr, turning belly up to face him, neck stretched out, a classic pose of submission. The Chase was over. She was caught. Now for his reward.

They Phased simultaneously and Sherlock basked in the sight, smell, and feel of a panting, extremly aroused Molly Hooper beneath him, his for the taking.

TAKE HER. CLAIM. OURS._ Yes_.

He felt her tremble and caught the mingled scents of nervousness and arousal drifting up from her skin. He had every intention of easing his way through the nerves, but the arousal made him purr in satisfaction. Knowing that her body craved his stroked his ego in a primal way. Made him want to prove her desire was well founded. His hands took up the challenge before his mind had finished forming the thought. They roamed her skin, from the crown of her head all the way down to her black painted toenails, his fingers spread wide as if trying to touch every inch of her at once.

She shuddered out a sigh when he touched her bare skin. Sherlock shifted closer, relishing the feel of her nude body against his. It excited him to feel her bare softness against the hard planes of his own body. He felt the hot dampness of her core teasing the thigh pressed between her legs, his member pulsed hard and unyielding against her outer thigh.

Her nipples tightened where they pressed against his chest, and he shifted deliberately to allow the curling hair there to abrade the sensitive peaks. Her reaction was a soft, sharp exhalation accompanied by the thrilling sensation of her grabbing his upper arms, as if needing an anchor. If it was an anchor she needed, he was more than happy to provide. He bent his head and seized her lips in a savage kiss. No innocent peck, this kiss. It was- in a word- primal. A tasting, claiming act that would leave Molly in no doubt of his feelings for her. Tongues dueled and teeth scraped. He broke away and Molly growled in anger. But she was soon soothed by the feel of his lips traveling a sensual path down her jaw and throat. He paused briefly at the spot where he would Mark her.

NOW. MARK HER NOW. _Patience. I will not rush this._

When he reached her perky, perfectly sized breasts, he stopped, waiting for a signal. Something to let him know she was with him. On the same erotic level. She moaned and arched her hips subtly beneath him. _Perfect._ He rewarded her by delivering a long lick to her rigid nipple, ending with a swirl of his tongue, circling the sensitive peak. She gasped and bucked. He took the nipple between his lips and sucked hard gently biting the tip. He toyed with first one breast and then the other for several minutes before deciding to move on. He didn't really want to but there were other even more tempting parts of his Pria to explore and he had a lifetime to explore her breasts at his leisure.

He moved down her body and she stiffened slightly, most likely aware of his intentions and wary. He placed soft kisses on her belly to soothe her and soon her sweet curves were softening again beneath him. Her fingers gripped his arms and kneaded, no longer seeking to steady herself but instead taking obvious pleasure in the feel of powerful muscles moving beneath her hands.

YES. WE STRONG. STRONG FOR MATE.

This was what he wanted- what he craved- his mate heating and yielding beneath him. Nothing else mattered. She made tiny little mewling sounds of needs and Sherlock took this as a cue to continue his journey down her body. He gently opened her folds and pressed his thumb to the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of her slit. She cried out and her hands flew out settling in his mane of curls. He eased one long nimble finger inside of her maintaining a slow steady rubbing rhythym on her clit. _Sweet scientific method, she was so tight._ He couldn't wait to feel her sex clasping his. He wanted to sink his aching erection deep into the hot cavern at her center and feel them joined together in one sweating, straining body of lust.

Her body writhed and twisted underneath his as he stroked, sinking into the soft soil beneath them. Her movements were strong, her physical strength obvious under his ministrations. He found himself happy in the knowledge that she could take his power in a way few other women could. He was after all, a Legurian male in his prime. The largest of all Big Cat Breeds, Legurians possessed incredible strength, even in human form. Because of this, Sherlock was never able to experience true abandon in his previous sexual encounters, forced to maintain a layer of control. But now... his compact but powerful little Sphinx was taking everything he had to give and loving every second of it.

He was dying to taste her. So he did. He lowered his head and inhaled her scent deep into his lungs, letting it burn a permanent place there, allowing her to Mark him in her own way. He flicked tongue over her pressure point and began to circle it, his finger still pumping her. It only took a few seconds of this treatment, and he felt her core tightening, clamping around his finger, her climax seizing her, his name a whisper falling repeatedly from her lips like some sort of forbidden prayer.

He could take it no more. He needed to be inside her. Now. He climbed back up her body sucking fiercely at sensitive spots all along her body, leaving little love bruises as he went. Once eye to eye again, he grabbed his mate's trembling thighs, positioning her with rough force until their bodies came into perfect alignment. In a surprise move, her body jerked and twisted out of his grasp. He let out a growl of warning, in no mood to play. But his female was not playing. She was demanding a change of position. She turned her back to him and wedged herself back beneath him, giving him his first good look at her stripe. It was so dark, the color was practically rippling, and the heat coming off of it could have seared a lesser man. His Beast growled in approval at the new position. Sherlock had thought to take her in a more traditional way for her first time, but apparently his woman had other ideas. He was not going to deny her this, not with his Beast roaring in satisfaction and his cock straining against her upturned buttocks. She presented a tantalizing picture to the hungry male.

He wedged his legs between hers, spreading them wide and poising his erection just within her entrance, earning a breathy moan from Molly. He settled his hands on her hips. She arched her back like the cat she was and rubbed against him in blatant invitation, easing his cock into her slowly. When he drew back a fraction, she expressed her impatience with an angry hiss. Sherlock growled low in return and bended to sink his teeth deep into the curve of her neck causing her to scream his name in rapture. She was panting now, desperate for him. He released her from his bite and laved the skin in silent apology. He gripped her hips hard and ended their torment with a single hard stroke, a possessive yowl ripping from his throat at the feel of breaking through her virginal barrier and finally claiming her. The sharp sting of his entrance and his sheer size caused a brief moment of panic. Instinctively, she shifted as if to escape and her mate snarled a warning. Molly stilled beneath him. He did not move. Just stayed still reveling in the sense of completion coursing through him. Eventually, she began to writhe against him again. He took this as his cue and began to move within her. He set his teeth to her again, holding her firmly in place and began a hard steady rhythm of claiming.

She choked back ragged cries of pleasure as his body moved deep and strong inside her. Each thrust caused a jolt of friction to her clit, his manhood reaching places deep inside of her, hitting sensitive spots she didn't even know she had, and within minutes she was shattering from the inside out, caught in one fierce climax after another.

Sherlock lost track of time. He could have pumping for minutes, hours or even days. He couldn't be sure. He felt tension deep in his gut and knew he was on the brink. Two more savage pumps and he released her shoulder to send a roar to the heavens he didn't believe in, his body spending deep inside of hers.

He collapsed on top of her. He wondered briefly if he was hurting her, but the soft sounds of contentment coming from the female beneath him spoke only of pleasure. Eventually, once he had managed to catch his breath again, Sherlock slowly pulled his manhood from her, causing her to wince. She tried to hide it but he caught the look and gathered in his arms.

"Molly..."

She turned in his arms to face him and he took the opportunity to search for signs of pain or regret. He found none. Only female satisfaction and...love. That sent a jolt of memory through him.

"Just before the Chase, you called me something. Something we've never spoken of before."

"Yes, my love. And?" Her eyes were soft, not demanding. She was not forcing anything from him. She was as patient and generous in her love as she was in every other aspect of her life.

He rubbed his nose against hers and whispered words he had never uttered in his life. "I love you too." Her face lit up and she kissed him. Not the frantic kiss of mating from earlier, but a slow intimate declaration.

Without another word, they settled down, Sherlock draping a leg over Molly's, her burrowing into him, and they fell asleep, the light of the full moon caressing the drying sweat on their bodies.

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A few hours later, just after sunrise, Sherlock woke up to find his arms full of warm sleeping Molly. The detective was still trying to wrap his mind around the events of the night before. It was, in a word, perfection. But he knew there was still one ceremonial task he needed to perform to make their Bond complete.

He eased away, careful not to wake her. She shivered a bit in the cool morning air but Sherlock knew her Sphinx would keep her warm enough until he could return.

He Phased and set off into the woodland, setting all his senses to scan for potential prey. His Pria would be ravenous when she awoke and it was his honor to see her fed. He spotted a large doe grazing nearby and began to stalk it. Despite its large size, the Legurian was a relatively graceful animal. The deer only sensed him a split second before it was thrown to the ground, powerful jaws clamped around its neck. Sherlock ended the animal's life quickly, not one to make any creature suffer unnecessarily.

The deer secured in his hold, he made to return to his mate when he realized something. He was close to the clearing where the helicopter dropped him off. Where Molly met him. He smiled in anticipation. There was one more thing he needed to pick up.

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Molly stretched her body, soothing sore muscles. She had never felt so happy in her entire life. Last night was...indescribable. _Oh my god, Sherlock Holmes is my Prius._ She giggle in giddiness and rubbed the Mark at her neck.

HIS. GOOD MATE. STRONG MATE. TIRED NOW. Molly chuckled softly. _Me too, old girl. But in the best possible way._

She heard a rumble and realized it was coming from her. Her stomach to be precise.

"That sounds like my cue." His voice resonated through her and she looked to see Sherlock Holmes striding in to their little glen, a deer draped over his shoulder, and a familiar white bakers box in hand.

For some inexplicable reason, she found herself suddenly shy of her own nudity. She tried to cover certain areas with her hands but stopped when Sherlock pointed out how silly she was being.

"Pria, I have seen and tasted every inch of you. I enjoyed it beyond measure and plan to do it again shortly. Never hide yourself from me. I find great pleasure in looking at you and will not be denied this." He ended with a lopsided smile.

She gathered her courage and dropped her hands, deciding to play along. "Well aren't you demanding in the morning."

"I'm demanding all the time." He reached her and delivered a sound kiss to her lips before tossing the carcass a few feet away from them and sitting down behind her, his long legs on either side of her. He placed the box in front of them and opened it, picking a delicious smelling caramel eclair from the bunch.

He pressed one hand to her stomach and used the other to bring the eclair to her lips before speaking the last set of traditional words. "I have claimed you as my Pria, my partner and equal in all things. As a token of my unending devotion and desire to provide for all of your needs, I offer this meal. Do you accept?" It was an echo of the ritual Chase words. A part of the Other marriage ceremony that she found to be sweet and romantic in a practical way.

Her response required no words. She simply shifted forward and took a bite of the eclair moaning in delight when the caramel sauce hit her tongue. He stiffened behind her and she reveled in the effect she had on him. He fed her the entire treat and set the rest of them aside for consumption at a later time.

He stood up and helped her to her feet as well. She nuzzled into his chest and he rumbled in appreciation. Without needing to communicate verbally, they both Phased simultaneously and made their way over to the deer. She sat down and waited while Sherlock used his powerful fangs to tear the hide from the backstrap and tenderloin area. Molly found herself licking her chops at the delicious smelling meat. Once the best parts of the meat were exposed, Sherlock came to her and used his big body and head to nudge her to the deer, encouraging her to eat. She set in, rewarding her sweet male with the occasional lick to his snout for his patience and regard. After a few minutes of eating, enough to satisfy tradition, she scooted over and invited him to join her. He did, crouching down and settling their bodies against one another while they ate.

Suddenly, Sherlock's head snapped up, his muzzle covered in blood and set in a vicious snarl. He stood to his full height and focused his gaze on the tree line in front of them. Molly rose as well, lifting her nose to the wind for some hint of whatever had made Sherlock's Beast react so.

_There_. A pungent mix of body odor and rotten eggs was coming from that part of the forest. Molly began to inch backward and Sherlock shifted the front half of his body, protectively blocking her from that area, though she peeked around him. The sound of approaching footsteps on top of that horrible smell heralded the coming of the last person she had expected to see today. Someone she never wanted to see again.

The Undertaker. And he was loaded to the teeth with weapons. Some that she was sure were specifically designed for killing Others. But...this man was a random serial killer off the busy streets of London with a taste for pathologists. Wasn't he?

She didn't have long to ponder this. The giant man whipped out a nasty looking gun from his belt and aimed it directly at them. Sherlock roared and pushed her back further.

"Well look what we have here. If it ain't the cats that got the cream," he sneered, "And then died for it."

Before Molly could puzzle out his words, the Undertaker raised the gun and fired, landing a direct hit to her mate.

**WHAT SAY YOU?**


	9. Chapter 9

**BBC's Sherlock is not mine**.

Sherlock stumbled into her from the force of the bullet impact, blood staining his beautiful coat on the area just below his ribcage. He let out three rapid-fire, gut-wrenching roars: a call for help. She knew a male Leotan's roar could be heard for up to five miles, but what good was it? No one at the Inn would answer the distress signal. None were loyal or foolish enough to get involved in a Feline battle. Sherlock's roars trailed off, his body slumping to the ground in a heap.

Molly's vision hazed red.

MATE HURT. SNAKE HURT HIM! ATTACK!

She didn't hesitate. The Sphinx jumped over its fallen mate, charging headlong for the man responsible, teeth bared and stripe shimmering in rage. He was trying to switch weapons, the gun having jammed after firing the massive round, common among weapons powerful enough to take down Others. Somewhere in the back of her rage-addled mind, Molly noted that this fact implied the Undertaker's knowledge and expertise with Hunting Others. He was no random serial killer after all.

His brief fumbling was all the advantage Molly needed. She pounced, front claws digging into his chest. He managed to block her snapping, throat-seeking jaws with one of his beefy fore-arms, but she would not be denied her vengeance. She lifted her hind legs and set her powerful back claws to the man's stomach- ripping and tearing with all the ferocity of an angry Pria. She smelled his sour blood, now running in rivulets from the wounds in his chest and gut.

With a great bellow and thrust of his arms, he managed to toss her away from him, her panther-like body flipping through the air before landing gracefully on all fours, crouching in defense. She hissed her disdain at him, ears pressed flat to her skull, silver eyes glaring.

His wounds were severe. Blood was steadily pouring but the man remained standing. He brandished a saber at her and taunted, "Here kitty, kitty...What's the matter? Don't want to join your boy toy in hell?"

Molly refused to believe Sherlock was dead. He simply couldn't be. She risked a glance over at him and was punished for her lapse in judgement. The Undertaker charged her, weapon held high, moving in for the kill.

POISON!

Molly understood. Her Beast detected poison on the blade. While it would most likely not kill her, all it would take was one swipe and she would be incapacitated. She tensed, ready to strike, but he was coming in too fast-

A blur of orange and black came from Molly's left and tackled the Undertaker with such force it made _her _teeth clatter. He was pummeled into the ground, the blade knocked out of his reach. Molly analyzed the newcomer hastily. Tigurian- no, Legurian. Familiar scent.

BROTHER. _Blessed be! it's Mycroft!_

The large Feline, similar to Sherlock but with darker coloration, mauled the giant with a calculative precision, nicking enough arteries to incapacitate the man, but not kill him. He would be needed for questioning after all._ Definitely Mycroft._

Once she was positive that her brother by bond had everything well in paw, she dashed over to Sherlock's prone form, her heart clenching with every step.

MALE NOT BREATHING! _No, no, no...Please, Luna above, don't let him be dead._

He was lying wounded-side up, the thing a gaping monstrosity that she could barely stand to look at. She began to make a low keening sound, desperate for some sign that he was still alive. She licked the wound with her sand paper tongue, cleaning it and allowing the healing properties of her saliva do what it could.

Nothing. No response. She was spiraling. She moved up his body and began to butt his head gently with hers, delivering sweet little licks all over his muzzle and face.

PLEASE, MALE. PLEASE WAKE UP. NEED YOU. Inside the Beast, Molly Hooper was lost in her grief.

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Mycroft Phased, uncaring of his nudity. His brother had been right to request protection be placed nearby. At the time, Mycroft thought that Sherlock was going a bit overboard in his worry, but it would appear that it was well founded. He was sure that his brother did not intend for Mycroft _himself_ to stay at the Inn as back up. But, he had just finished up with that Korean election business and found himself in the mood for a holiday. It was a good thing too. As soon as heard his brother's call for help, he had sent a quick message to John Watson, then dashed into the forest, Phasing mid leap.

He grabbed the dying serial killer- correction, Hunter- by the tattered remains of his shirt and used his Other strength to lift him to his feet, forcing gravity to make the blood drain quicker. It brought a sinister smile to Mycroft's face. This man had hurt his baby brother and threatened his brand new sister. Unacceptable.

KILL. _Patience._

He flashed a set of fangs at the Hunter, allowing his eyes to glow golden.

"What is your name?" His voice carried no inflection. Cold and sinister.

"Caine," the Hunter sputtered out.

"I know of you. Who initiated the contract for this Hunt?"

Caine let out a gurgling chuckle, "Like I'm gonna tell you."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. That was it- just one eyebrow- and Caine's face dropped.

"They needed certain Others eliminated before it could begin. Others that could identify that your _species_ was under attack. Like Pathologists and Coppers. They would catch the increase in Other deaths and that was something my employers simply could not allow," he was fading, his words beginning to slur.

Mycroft shook him once- hard. "They? What attack? Answer me!"

But Caine was beyond torture, beyond caring. He smiled, blood oozing from the corners of his mouth. "You have no place among humans. You and your pack will die, one by one. The Order will destroy you all."

He had no more use for the vile creature. Based on the man's word's, whatever info could be stripped from the Hunter's phone, and Mycroft's myriad deductions, he had everything he needed.

He drug Caine over to Molly, who was currently wedging herself under one of Sherlock front arms. Sherlock was beginning to glow. He would soon be Phasing back to his human form.

"One thing before you go, Mr. Caine."

"Oh yeah, what's that?"

"We are Feline."

"So?" he asked incredulously, his breath coming out in wheezes now.

"We are not a Pack. We are a Pride. Molly?" Her head perked up and she moved out of Sherlock's limp hold when Mycroft threw Caine at her feet. "His death is yours by right."

The Sphinx looked down at a whimpering Caine, it's pseudo-prehensile tail wrapping around Sherlock's paw behind her, refusing to be separated from him completely. With a final swipe of her claws, Molly collected her due. Mycroft doubted there was any guilt or mercy in her mind.

_Justly so._

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When John stumbled from the helicopter, the sight that greeted him was terrifyingly familiar. Sherlock was injured. Badly.

"My God, Mary." He looked to his Pria, devastated. She had demanded to accompany him when he received Mycroft's summons.

Sherlock was in his human form, his naked lower torso stained in blood. John noted two bodies nearby, one a deer, obviously Sherlock's Chase gift to Molly, and the other a large man, nothing more than a pile of ravaged meat and bones now. He didn't give them a second thought. Just ran to his fallen friend, throwing a set of clean clothes at a waiting Mycroft.

When he got within 4 feet of Sherlock, Molly's Sphinx, which had been keeping vigil beside him, lunged at John. She was crazed. And not letting anyone near her mate. Before she could do any damage, a large tranquilizer dart found its way into the side of her neck (courtesy of Mary), dropping her like a stone. Mary knelt next to her, checking her over, and John moved on to his partner.

"What the bloody hell happened?" As he spoke, he began to examine Sherlock.

Mycroft ignored his question and asked one of his own. "Is he alive?"

John put two fingers to Sherlock's pulse point and waited for what felt like an eternity. _There. Weak. But growing stronger_.

"He's alive. His Other metabolism is starting to kick in." He reached into his Doctor's kit, dragging out the necessary instruments, then performing field surgery on Sherlock's wound. It would help the healing process along. Speed things up. With John's help, instead of taking several weeks, it would only take a few days. God bless Other regenerative capabilities.

"Mycroft, talk to me. What happened?" he repeated.

The man didn't speak for a bit and John thought he wasn't going to say anything at all. Typical Mycroft. When suddenly, he did. "They're back, John."

"Who's back?"

"The Order of Purus Homines. The Purity of Mankind."

John was frustrated now. The Feline was speaking in riddles!

"What does that mean?!"

"It means that war is upon us." Mycroft looked him in the eye, his expression resolute. "Vatican cameos, John."

**AN: Sorry 'bout the wait. Meant to post yesterday but got called in to work for a fourteen hour shift. Bleh. I know Molly's a doctor and would be able to tell that Sherlock was still alive, but her Sphinx just sees her mate, no discernible breathing, not moving. She freaked!**

**I know this is a short one, but should be more heading your way later tonight.**

**Thoughts? Comments? Motivation ;)**

**Speaketh your minds! Please.**


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: To anyone who was a wee bit disappointed that Sherlock didn't get his share of the fight against Caine, fear not, there is much more action to come. Sherlock will get his share. The best parts in fact. He is after all, part Lion.**

**Enjoy.**

**BBC's Sherlock is not mine.**

When Sherlock woke and his eyes sprung open, his mind went straight into deduction mode.

_I was shot. By a specialized gun. Severely injured._

_The Feline (Jaguari) nurse floating around the room just broke things off with her boyfriend. She thought he was cheating but he wasnt. He was just a LARPer- too embarrassed to tell her._

_Marsupian orderly accompanying her indicates that I am in an Other facility. Their blood work and rapid healing tended to raise far too many questions in regular hospitals._

_His body was sore and stiff, but manageable. The wound itched and aggravated, but also- manageable. Conclusion- out for approximately 2 days and John operated on site. Also likely that Molly used her curative saliva...Molly!_

Sherlock snapped up, his wound pulling painfully. But he pushed the pain aside and scanned the small hospital room for a glimpse of her. Nothing. His Beast roused from deep within. It was sluggish. Still exhausted from using its considerable energy to heal. But if it was anything to do with Molly, the Beast would be involved.

MATE? _I don't know_. FIND.

Sherlock put his feet to the cold tile floor and was about to rip the IV out of his upper forearm when the door opened and in walked John, Mycroft right behind him.

"Sherlock! You're awake!" John's smile was bright. Until he noticed that Sherlock was in the middle of an escape attempt. He set his coffee down on a table and shuffled over.

"Are you mad?" He held up his hand. "No, don't answer that. More importantly, why are you trying to get up and move about without medical supervision when you were just bloody shot two days ago?!" Sherlock ignored John's rant.

"Where is she?"

John was flustered. "Who? The nurse?"

Sherlock's lip curled in a snarl of impatience. Mycroft cut in before he could say something he might regret later. "No John. Not the nurse. Molly. The last time Sherlock saw her, she was about to be killed by a vicious Hunter."

The injured detective slammed his open palm on the bed railings. "Exactly. Now if you wouldn't mind terribly, could someone please tell me if my Pria is alright and where the hell she is?!" He started out in a whisper, his volume increasing exponentially until he was practically bellowing the last part. The energy expended caused him to waver a bit.

John understood then. "Sure, mate. Right yeah. Sorry. She's fine. She's okay. Calm down." He helped Sherlock back onto the bed, making sure the equipment hadn't been jostled out of place. Sherlock went willingly, indicating just how drained he must have been. "She's with Mary now, down in the cafeteria gettin' a bite."

He nodded. "So she was uninjured?"

"A few scrapes and a bit of light bruising, all healed within a matter of hours. She refused to leave your side the entire time you were out. In fact, the only time she wasn't with you was while she was out cold from the tranquilizer-"

"Tranquilizer! John, you tranked my Pria?!" Even settled among fluffy white pillows, Sherlock's sharp cheekbones and glacier eyes afforded him an impressive scowl.

John slowly shook his head, reluctant to reveal the next bit. "Ahem...No not me. Mary did. Molly wouldn't let anyone near you and when I tried to help, she charged me. Mary had no choice."

"You know, its funny how your wife is constantly finding herself with _no choice_ in a situation but to shoot a friend. She has now shot both myself and my mate. Coincidence?"

John blushed, the red blooming down his face and neck. He had no defense other than the truth.

Mycroft stepped in here, breaking the tension. "Moving on." He approached Sherlock and handed him a file."His name was Percival Caine. A Hunter for hire. Quite a reputation."

"Was?" Sherlock was scanning the file, but John could tell his attention was riveted on what Mycroft was telling him.

"Yes. He's dead. Now, he would not reveal any individual names, but he admitted that he was contracted by what he referred to as 'The Order'..." Mycroft was obviously trying to avoid the topic of the confrontation, but Sherlock refused to be swayed.

He enunciated each word slowly. "What. Happened. In. The forest?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed. "Oh very well. You passed out from blood loss and shock and Doctor Hooper attacked the man, managing to score admirable wounds, but was thrown off before she could do any fatal damage. He was about to cut her with a Rachtu-"

"A what?" John butt in.

"A saber laced with poison capable of incapacitating an Other." Sherlock waved him off impatiently, motioning for Mycroft to continue.

"I intervened. I interrogated Caine and then John showed up and we carted you back to London. Now, about the Order-"

"_You? Intervened_?"

Mycroft flicked a non-existent piece of lint from his suit and refused to meet Sherlock's eyes. "Yes."

"You stayed at the Inn as back-up. Came when you heard my roar and saved my mate. You then extracted information from him in what was hopefully a most unscrupulous manner?"

"Naturally."

"Did you make the kill?"

Mycroft did look at him then. "No. That was Molly's rite."

Sherlock nodded, unfazed by the revelation that his gentle mate had ended a life. Percival Caine got what he deserved and he was frankly proud of Molly. She did what any female whose Prius had just been fatally wounded would do. And admirably so if the approving look on Mycroft's face was anything to go by.

An awkward silence filled the room, neither brother sure of the protocol involved when showing familial gratitude and affection.

Just as Mycroft pointed toward the file and made to speak again, Sherlock blurted out a soft, "Thank you."

Mycroft appeared positively flummoxed. "You know, Sherlock, you have shown me gratitude and a facsimile of affection _twice_ since you and Doctor Hooper became an item."

Sherlock fidgeted with his IV. "Yes well don't become used to it," he snapped.

His brother smirked. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Ahem, so, the Order?" John was loving every minute of this. Sherlock alive and well. The Holmes brothers trying to be cold and distant to each other, but failing miserably. All in all, a good day.

"Right. Caine mentioned an Order. They hired him to eliminate the Other pathologists and high-ranking police officers of London. Apparently, they wanted to-"

"Eliminate any possible identifiers of an aggressive move against the Other community. Obviously. All of the murdered pathologists were Other. Of course. I always miss something. I was so focused on the serial killer perspective, that I did not think to have you check their species status. Dammit!" Sherlock was fuming with self-reproach.

And then, in what John believed to be an attempt to compensate for his perceived failure, he deduced the rest himself.

"Caine's propensity for blowfish venom is explained by his Hunter's expertise. He would know that it is one of the few natural toxins that affects Others. It also works on humans which is why I didn't make the connection at the start of the case. Judging by the amount of times your phone has buzzed since you've been in the room, which is quantifiably more than usual, you have begun an intense investigation into this Order, your researchers commanded to update you with any relevant information without hesitation. This level of severity means that you believe he was referring to the Purus Homines, a fanatical Order determined to eliminate Others from the general population, supposedly destroyed during the final Crusades, and the most legitimate threat our people have ever known. Lestrade's noticeable absence tells me that Caine's body was disposed of in a less than conventional manner. The barest smell of sawdust and trace amounts of soot on the hem of your trousers indicates that Caine's body will be found in an abandoned warehouse, burned almost beyond recognition, but with just enough evidence to prove that it was indeed he who murdered those pathologists- the Undertaker officially laid to rest." He breathed deeply, steepling hands beneath his chin. The IV dangling from one hand made the classic pose almost comical. But John was impressed. As usual. "Did I miss anything?"

"Just one small detail-"

Mycroft was interrupted yet again by the door opening, Molly and Mary returning from their meal. The second Molly realized he was awake, she rushed him, shoving past Mycroft and John straight into his waiting arms. She was trying to be careful of his wound, but Sherlock just pulled her tight to him, burying his nose in her loose hair, inhaling deeply. She was peppering his jaw and cheeks with soft kisses and mumbling nonsensical words in his ear.

The others left the room discreetly, shutting the door behind them.

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After several solid minutes of loving reaffirmation, they pulled apart, but only slightly. She was snuggled in the bed with him on his non-injured side, propped on her elbow, one hand petting intimate circles on the rigid muscles of chest and abdomen. He had one arm wrapped around her, the other playing with the hand she was using to pet him. He would catch it and bring to his mouth for little nibbles of her palm and fingertips, before releasing it to return to its ministrations. A few seconds later, he would snatch it back up again. It was the most silly bit of love play they'd ever indulged in and Molly was euphoric.

"Did he hurt you? Caine." He sounded almost hesitant to ask. It was strange to hear such a tone from Sherlock Holmes. The one thing he most certainly was NOT was hesitant.

"No. I handled things quite well if I do say so myself, even before Mycroft arrived." Her playful words and Sherlock's teasing slap on her bottom following them helped to lighten the mood a bit.

"You haven't slept. The bags under your eyes and the state of-"

She cut him off before he could deduce her into oblivion by pressing her lips to his. He didn't seem to mind the interruption, coaxing her mouth open and deepening the kiss.

When the kiss ended, she explained, "I couldn't. Not until you woke up. Not until I was SURE you-" She choked up a bit, tears lodging in her throat. "You can't ever do that again, Sherlock." She continued softly. "I mean, I know your profession is generally dangerous and I would never try to interfere in that, but...you almost...you almost died. For a time, I thought you WERE dead. I...it was...I can't..." She couldn't seem to remember any extended vocabulary. Luckily, there was only one thing she really needed to say. "I love you."

She knew he wasn't typically a male prone to expressing his emotions vocally, so when he didn't return the sentiment out loud, it didn't bother her. What he did do was even more significant. He picked up her hand again, but this time instead of laying a kiss there, he nuzzled his cheek into it and Molly was astounded to feel the barest hint of wetness on her palm.

No more words were spoken. He pulled her in for a heated kiss, then dimmed the lights from the bed controls and settled her into his hold, a silent command for her to sleep.

BOSSY MATE. _Yes. And we wouldn't have it any other way._

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Molly fell asleep within minutes, and not long after, Mycroft re-entered. Sherlock was not surprised. He knew he would be coming back. They had not finished their conversation after all.

"She's finally asleep. Thank God."

"You don't believe in God Mycroft."

"No, but I've found using such expressions tends to put ordinary people at ease around me. Opens them up, so to speak."

"Sound reasoning."

"Hm. So..."

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow at his brother's suggestive tone. "Yes?"

"The Chase went well I presume."

"You know it did. The Mark on her neck is clear evidence of that."

"About that...You Marked her rather hard, no?"

Sherlock shrugged casually, but a grin of pure male satisfaction colored his attempt at nonchalance.

Mycroft just shook his head, the mood turning somber as he adjusted the file in his hand, bringing the conversation back to its original purpose.

"Go on." Sherlock's deep baritone was grim. No more pleasantries or awkward platitudes. Time to get to the matter at hand.

"We recovered Caine's phone. Numbers in the call log were all untraceable. Burners. There was only one message in the Inbox. The only reason it was not cleared being that it was received _during_ the attack. It reads 'Calm down, Princess. Make no move on Pawn until given further instruction. And under absolutely no circumstance confront White King. -M' Rather droll if you want my opinion. But there you have it. SHhuld be all you need to reach the same conclusions as I."

"A controlling megalomaniac with a penchant for grand allusions and metaphors, in this case chess. Focused on me but not wanting me out of the game. Also, repeating the mistake of relegating Molly to the lowly position of 'Pawn' instead of her true place on the board as my Queen, though that mistake will work in our favor as far as protecting her. And signed 'M'." Sherlock's tone was bored but every inch of his body language radiated anger and protectiveness. He tightened his hold on Molly and fixed his stare on his brother. "It's rather obvious who this Order official is, isn't it?"

Mycroft nodded. "Elementary."

They spoke the name at the same time, the sound of it in the air like the cold caress of a blade.

"Moriarty."

**Boom goes the dynamite. Reviews = Fast-Typing Fingers :)**

**Much love,**

**Direwolf**


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Quick shout out to all my reviewers and favouriters. You guys are incredible and make this writer's day! Enjoy.**

**BBC's Sherlock is not mine.**

_He waited patiently for his young cub to pounce. The cub's movement through the grass was easily tracked. When he leapt, the Beast simply ducked his head and let the cub tumble past. This was supposed to be a training excercise in stealth and hunting but was fast becoming a lazy day spent under the sun. That was fine though. While idleness was not usually his forte, it was acceptable under these circumstances._

_The full moon rose tonight, which meant his young son was stuck in his Other form until sunrise tomorrow. Until Other children reached adolescence and gained more control over their Phases, the moon's pull held firm, forcing the youngsters through a Phase for about 24 hours surrounding the full moon. Most Other parents escaped to a secluded safe zone or private estate (like them, his brother's acres of property was far more suitable for this than their inner city den) for the monthly event. But occasionally, things went wrong and families were caught in the open. This is what initially gave rise to the human myth of werewolves (of course it was a Canine who let the cat out of the bag) and the ridiculous notion that they only turned at full moons._

_Parents utilized this time to nurture their offspring's Other form, hence the hunting lessons. However, with his mate forced to be elsewhere today, the Beast figured it was as good a time as any to teach his son the noble lesson of pranking, or as he would later term it- experimentation._

_The little Legurian Sphinx looked very put out by his failed attempt to stalk, sulking with striped back turned toward his sire. His son was more like him than he cared to admit. The Legurian male just chuffed in amusement and nudged the angry ball of fur to get his attention. He motioned across the clearing toward the sleeping Bear, his young Bearswan nestled into his side staring off into the distance, obviously bored. Brilliant, he could kill two birds with one stone._

_Surely his adopted pride-mate wouldn't mind a bit of fun at his expense if it meant cheering up the little ones._

_The Legurian motioned toward the little puddle not 2 feet from the Bears and once the cub understood his father's intentions, he jumped up in excitement. The older male took the lead, teaching his son the proper way to move through field grass without alerting others to your presence._

_Once within range, the cub looked to his father for permission. The Legurian gave a regal nod of his head, granting it. With a screechy mewling sound, the cub jumped, legs wide, straight into the puddle, spraying water everywhere and soaking the two unsuspecting Bears. The father Bear came to with a roar, shaking water out of his eyes and glaring around for the perpetrator. When alighting on the young soaking wet Feline before him, he just shook his big head and lay down to return to sleep after giving the older Feline a rather nasty look. The young Bearswan however took the splash as an invitation to play, and soon the two youngsters were embroiled in a feisty game of water tag._

_There, problem solved. If only his mate could see his top-notch parenting skills right now, she would be so proud..._

_He heard a strange sound coming from just behind him. With everything well in hand, he decided to investigate. After a brief jaunt through woodland, he came to a beach, ocean waves lapping at the sand. Ocean? Brother's land was nowhere near the ocean._

_With his sharp eyesight, he saw an ominous fin slide out of the water, the shark slowly and methodically approaching the shore. Out of the blue and completely against scientific possibility, the Legurian heard the shark's hollow voice echoing in his head._

_"Sherlock Holmes has made one enormous mistake which will destroy the lives of everyone he loves...and everything he holds dear."_

_With a snap turn, the shark began speeding toward a small outcropping of rocks just down the beach. There was something on those rocks. The Legurian squinted against the harsh light of the sun and saw that it was...his cub. How did he get there?! He should have been back at the clearing, safe and sound._

_The terrified father sprung into action, heart sinking and stomach swirling in dread. He wasn't fast enough. The shark was going to beat him there! No!_

_He roared for his son to move, to run, but the playful cub was too distracted by a fiddler crab to pay any attention to his father. He put on a burst of speed, finally outpacing the sea creature. He was almost there. His son looked up and smiled a gummy cat grin at him, unaware of the danger he was in. Just as he went to scoop him up, the shark having fallen behind, a great spider twice his size sprung from behind the rock, forcing the Legurian back with one of its massive legs. Its eyes were numerous black crystals, focused and hungry. Before the Legurian could recover, the monster used its webbing to snatch away his son, the frightened cub screaming desperately for his father's help. It dragged him into the dark depths of its web. Forever beyond his reach. _

Sherlock woke from his dream with a gasp, sweat pouring and heart pounding. He took several moments to compose himself, compartmentalizing the strange and terrifying dream into a rarely-used wing of his mind palace. He refused to dwell on it.

He squirmed in an attempt to get comfortable on the lumpy couch. Home from the Chase not two weeks and he found himself barred from their bed, her scent teasing him from beyond the closed bedroom door.

She was trying to punish him, and it was working. He thought back on the events that led to his exile, hoping that it would lead to a revelation.

_**Yesterday**_

_"Oh, my love, my darling, I've hungered for your touch a long, lonely time..."_ He leaned against the door jamb, listening to her soft crooning and watching her putter around the kitchen. He snuck up behind her and placed an arm on either side of her, caging her in. She stopped singing and looked over her shoulder up at him.

"Good morning, Mr. Holmes," she said sweetly.

"Morning, Doctor Holmes," he replied.

She turned around in his arms and ran her hands up his bare chest into his irresistable curls, eliciting a purr from him. She was looking at his dark stripes and licking her lips, taking in the effect she had on him.

She rose up on her tip toes, deliberately pressing her breasts into him, letting him feel her nipples tighten through the shirt she was wearing. She laid her tongue to the base of his throat and licked and nibbled a slow scorching trail up his neck ending with a swirl of her tongue around the sensitive shell of his ear.

"I'm not a Holmes yet," she whispered, breaking away and returning to her breakfast preparations as if nothing had happened. The little tease.

He growled low and turned her around again, forcefully. He gave her no time to protest. Just ran his hands down to her thighs and lifted them up, settling her bottom on the counter, sending several items clanging to the floor, and wedging himself between her legs. Keeping one hand on a leg, he wrapped a fistful of her hair around the other and pulled her head back, exposing the graceful line of her neck. "Close enough, Molly."

She wiggled in a weak attempt to escape, but he could tell that her heart wasn't really in it. Besides, all her wiggling did was bring the heat of her core closer to his throbbing manhood. "Sherlock, I may be your Pria, but I am not your wife. Therefore, I am still Molly _Hooper_." Her voice was breathy, her eyes fluttering with each kiss he placed on her neck in a mirror of what she had done to him just moments before.

"Hm... a technicality. You are MINE, Molly, notarized piece of paper or not. Say it." He gave her no opportunity to, covering her mouth with his in a devouring kiss, the hand on the back of her head moving her to the best possible angle to receive his questing tongue.

With a controlled lengthening of his claws, he sliced off her underwear and tore the purple shirt from her body, noting absently that it was one of his, but not caring one whit. He lowered his head to her exposed breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth for several hot licks before doing the same to the other. His claws safely retracted, he used a finger to test her readiness. Dripping. She was dripping. For _him_. He stepped back from her and removed his boxers, returning to her before she could blink. He positioned the tip of his erection at her pulsing entrance. She was panting hard, rolling her hips in his direction, silently begging him to fill her.

"Sherlock...please..." He wanted to take the plunge. Christ, did he ever, but he had to hear it first.

"Say it, Molly," he demanded, voice deepened impossibly lower with lust.

"What...I...what are you...," she was crazed now, dipping her small hand down to guide him in herself. He balanced one hand on the counter, using the other to stop her attempts. It was the ultimate test of his control- stopping that sweet little hand.

"You're mine, Molly. SAY IT," He growled.

She nodded her head vigorously, still trying to find her voice. Finally, her voice husky with desire, she managed it. "I'm yours, Sherlock. _All yours_."

"Forever."

She nodded again, her core practically weeping now. "Forever."

With a savage roar and a single thrust, he sheathed himself in her, all the way to the hilt. She screamed his name in ecstasy and he reveled in it. He wasted no time, pulling from her all the way to the tip, then sliding back home. He pistoned in and out of her with all the force of a freight train.

When the counter began to creak ominously he simply gripped the backs of her thighs and lifted, twirling them around to slam her into the wall, betting on the hope that it was made of sturdier stuff. The force of the move sent her over the edge, her walls clamping around him. Three more hard thrusts and he felt the tell-tale tightening in his sac.

Using his Other strength, he held her up with one hand and palmed her head with the other, forcing to look at him. He wanted her to grasp the ultimate sincerity in his eyes. "MINE," he yelled, just before he exploded inside of her, hot jets of his seed bathing her womb, sending her into another orgasm before she could recover from the first one. His legs were trembling but he managed to keep them standing. After a few minutes spent catching their breath, he kissed her lightly on the nose and carried them to the bedroom, still inside of her and already gearing up for Round 2.

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They sat across from each other in the booth at Angelo's for an early lunch (breakfast lying ruined on the kitchen floor). The conversation was light, focusing on Sherlock and John's latest case. A funny one involving members of Parliament, the summer solstice, and a stolen clown car.

Sherlock stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Molly staring at a point just above his shoulder, head cocked in curiosity. He felt it now. There was someone standing just behind him.

THREAT AT BACK. MOVE. PROTECT MATE.

He stood abruptly tensing to face the newcomer but froze when a familiar scent registered.

The Woman. Irene Adler. Here. In Angelo's.

"Woman. What are you doing here? You are meant to be dead." He was impatient to be rid of her. He was trying to enjoy a post-coital high and a nice meal with his Pria, and Adler was interfering.

"You can't blame _me_. You were the one who wouldn't return any of my messages. I missed you." Her voice was rife with invitation, the hand she laid on his chest a not-so-subtle addition.

Molly came around him then, taking in the scene, and turning a glacial glare on the Woman. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

Sherlock brushed the offending hand from him and made introductions. "Molly Hooper, this is Irene Adler. Woman, this is Molly Hooper. She is-"

"Woman? You call her Woman?" Molly's tone was indecipherable.

RETREAT. RETREAT!

Even Sherlock Holmes, often oblivious to social expectations, knew that something dangerous was happening here. "Her name is irrelevant. Come on, Molly. Lets go."

Adler jumped in, "Oh no, I was hoping we could have lunch and catch up." She paused here, lowering her voice into what he supposed was meant to be a sultry tenor, "Unless of course you _wanted_ to retire to Baker Street. I _have_ been traveling and could use a shower. I seem to remember yours being particularly...hot."

RED ALERT. The Beast was anxious now. So was Sherlock, truth be told. Taken out of context, Molly would be given the wrong- She was leaving. Molly was putting on her coat, her movements twitchy. "Molly," he began.

"No, no. Its fine. I'm just going to head to the Watson's. Mary and I had planned a trip to the Tesco. I wasn't going to go, but I think maybe I should." She slung her purse strap over shoulder moving past him.

Sherlock grabbed her elbow. "Molly, wait, let me get the check-"

"No," she practically barked, "You and.._The Woman_ here should stay. Enjoy lunch. I find myself quite suddenly lacking an appetite." She yanked away from him, storming from the restaurant into the dreary London rain.

BAD. VERY BAD. GET RID OF PEST. FIX.

Sherlock spun to the Woman- no! Adler- anger blatant in his features. "Why are you here!?"

She was smiling deviously, obviously entertained, "I have a case for you."

Sherlock scoffed, slipping on his own coat, "A case? You came all the way to London, risked exposure and capture, interrupted a nice lunch with my woman, and taunted her with baseless implications, causing her pain in the process- because you have a case you want me to work?" his tone was pure ice.

She stammered then, clearly shocked by his reaction, "_Your_...woman?"

He exited the restaurant heading in the same direction as Molly, Adler stumbling after him. "Yes. _My woman_. Never speak to her or of her again. In fact, let's go ahead and apply that rule to me as well." She froze on the sidewalk and he made to leave but paused, "Who's the client?"

She recovered herself a bit and soothed her voice into a velvety caress, one that scraped at his ears like nails on a chalkboard. "Me."

He laughed and resumed his retreat. "Definitely _not_ interested." There may have been a time when Adler's sharp mind and constant games would have sparked an intellectual interest in him, but now it just reminded him too much of Moriarty and that sickened him. Besides, he had _Molly_. What could Irene Adler offer him next to her? Preposterous.

He heard her floundering behind him and sent a quick text to his brother, alerting him to the fact that a certain wanted criminal was just spotted outside of Angelo's Italian Cuisine.

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Turns out, Molly had not gone to the Watson's. Mary admitted they had no plans for the day and when Sherlock explained what had happened, she regarded him with pity.

"You have a lot of explaining to do Sherlock. Did you ever tell Molly about her?"

"Yes. I told her there was a woman that I once went up against in a battle of wits and beat. I admitted to her that it was the same woman I identified in the morgue several Christmases ago. She seemed satisfied with this explanation."

"Right, okay, so what did she say when you told her about Adler being alive? How did she take that?" John asked.

"I never told her that. I saw no need to." Sherlock folded his hands behind his back, firm in his belief that he had done nothing wrong.

John's face was almost pitying when he explained, "Sherlock, you never told your Pria, the woman you _Chased_, your partner in all things- that the woman you once admired, that you received inappropriate sounding texts from, that you even grieved for in your own weird way, and that you identified from her naked body _in front of Molly_ was still alive? And _texting_ you?"

Sherlock cleared his throat. Thrown all together like that, it sounded bad. But he had not intended it so. "No."

John smiled at him weakly. "Well, old friend, good luck with that." He proceeded to slam the door in Sherlock's face.

With the sun having set, and after several hours of wandering London, searching for his wayward mate, Sherlock returned to Baker Street, properly worried now.

_Where is she?_ FIND HER. APOLOGIZE. FIX._ I'm bloody trying to._

To his immense relief, Molly was at home, sitting in his chair, staring at the show on the telly, but not really watching it.

She looked up when he entered, her face showing obvious signs of crying. He mad her cry? _Unacceptable._

"Molly, I-"

"Do you love her, Sherlock? Is that why you hid her from me?" her voice held no bitterness or rage. It was quiet, seeking. Lonely. Sherlock's newly started heart was breaking. This was all a giant misunderstanding. Why couldn't people just think? If his Pria would just stop and think for a second instead of reacting from emotion, then she would see- it was obvious after all. At least to him.

He decided that if he needed to spell things out for her, then he would. "Absolutely not. I knew nothing of that particular sentiment until you, Molly Hooper. Only you." He moved across the room in 3 great strides and knelt in front of her. He tried to hold her hand, but she slipped it away.

"Then why did you not tell me she was alive? That you were still in contact with her?"

"Because! It was not important. Not to me. Yes, there was a time when I was intrigued by her, but she is all show, Molly. She is cold and empty and...and...lacking. But she is also dangerous. She was far away from us, from you, and that is where I prefer her. As for being in contact, I had no idea. I blocked her number the night I left Bart's with you months ago and was unaware that she was still sending messages. Not that it mattered. I never responded to her anyway."

She seemed to be considering his explanation so he plowed on, drawing from years of John's tutelage. The Ursuline would be proud if he knew that Sherlock had in fact paid at least a modicum of attention. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Molly, and I'm sorry that it hurt you. But believe me when I say that it was not intentional." He could hear the pleading in his voice and there was a small part of him, the man that he had been, that was a bit shamed by it, but that voice was quickly drowned out. By the Prius that loved Molly Hooper. The man and the Beast that would do anything to see her safe. And happy. Besides, she was the _only_ person, alive or dead, who would ever earn this from him, so he was okay with it.

After several tense moments, her shoulders sagged, relenting. A smile touched her lips. It was small, but a smile nonetheless.

VICTORY. His Beast began to purr in relief.

"I believe you, Sherlock. And I...its okay. I know that you don't think like everyone else and that's one of things I love about you. I suppose it would be rather hypocritical of me to scorn you for it now."

Bless his woman. She understood. Molly always understood. She stood up from the chair and he stood with her. When he made to follow her into the bedroom, however, she stopped him with a hand on his chest. The same position as the Woman at Angelo's earlier. except this time, there _was_ a reaction. A fire low in Sherlock's belly. Burning for her. And growing. From one innocent touch. Until her next words at least.

"I love you, Sherlock, and I forgive you, but I think its best you sleep on the sofa tonight. I need to be alone." She gave him a brief peck on the cheek and entered their bedroom, closing the door in his face.

WHAT? NO! The Beast sat in it's cage in Sherlock's mind, clearly frustrated. _Join the club._

_**Today**_

So here he was- a few experiments performed in the dead of night in his kitchen lab gone wrong, a couple of restless hours on a lumpy couch, a strange dream, and an entire night spent without Molly. Suffice it to say, Sherlock Holmes was not in the most pleasant of moods.

He heard the bedroom door open and froze with his back facing it, unsure of what to expect. How did one handle a perturbed mate? Flowers? Chocolates? He needed to find out and add it to his mind palace for future reference.

"Sherlock?" The tone in her voice surprised him. It was neither cold, nor angry. It was...warm.

"Yes?" He still didn't turn around, waiting for her to make the next move.

"You can come to bed now."

"Now? But it's already morn-" He did look at her then and his jaw dropped at the sight. Molly stood before him, already turning back into the bedroom looking at him over her shoulder. In only her stripe. And it was dark.

He swallowed. "So, may I presume you're not angry with me anymore?"

She shook her head. "A brilliant deduction, detective. I know you didn't mean any harm and I felt the sincerity in your apology last night. I've cooled off. Now...I need to be warmed up again. Do you think you could help me with that?" She was twitching her proverbial tail at him.

YES! GOOD. GO.

He didn't hesitate. Just stalked forward, dropping his clothes in a trail down the hallway. "I think I can manage."

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Later, after hours of worshipping her body and with his head buried between her thighs, Molly grabbed his curls and sank into oblivion, screaming "MINE" repeatedly. He eased her down from the peak and crawled up her body caressing every sensitized hollow as he moved.

He covered her with his body and leaned down to whisper a single fervent word in her ear. "Yours."

**Questions? Comments? Feelings in General?**

**REVIEWS ARE LOVE.**

**Direwolf**


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Short but essential chapter. Enjoy. **

**(Also, PokemonMaster, thank you for the wonderful review. I was going to PM you, but realized I couldn't lol)**

**BBC's Sherlock is not mine. **

"Are you sure about this, Mary?" Molly held the lacy teddy up to her body.

"Course I am. It's silver." Mary told her with a wink.

"Yes. And?"

"_And_ I happen to know that Sherlock has a thing for silver. Probably has something to do with that silver stripe down your back or your creepy silver eyes." Mary informed her with a friendly wink.

"Creepy? They're not creepy. They're...unique." The women shoved each other affectionately. "Besides, how do you know what Sherlock fancies?"

"Part of my training. Super top-secret." This sent Molly into a fit of giggles and the girls resumed their shopping. After ringing up their lingerie purchases (silver teddy in the bag), they moved on op the next store. Sherlock and John were in Ipswich on a case so they had decided to make it a Lady's Day- shopping, pedicures, and dinner at the new French bistro. John had been hesitant to leave Mary so close to her due date, but the Bear was able to convince her mate that a nice dangerous case was just what he needed to calm down and relax. Poor Mary was just happy to have him out of her hair for a bit. She loved her husband, but he was getting a bit paranoid at this late stage of the pregnancy. And it was driving her mad!

Mary caught her friend staring at something in a shop window. "What are you looking at?"

"Oh its nothing." Mary looked and saw it was a Baby Display. Full of onesies and rattles and an adorable bassinet. "Just looking for something for the little one...you know." Molly was blushing.

The female Ursuline raised an eyebrow. "My little one? Or yours?"

Molly started sputtering, caught off guard. "I..I didn't mean..."

"Molly, I know you already have a beautiful gift basket set up for after the birth. You've had it ready for ages."

"How did you know that?!"

"Again- training. Don't try to change the subject. What's going on?" Mary was stroking her big belly as she spoke, drawing Molly's eye. "Aha! I can see it in your eyes. You've got babies on the brain."

"I do not! I just...I'm just looking at things." She finished lamely.

"Mhmm. Whatever you say..."

They began walking toward the bistro and Mary was willing to let it go, but Molly surprised her when she blurted out, "I've missed my cycle!"

Passersby gave them strange looks but Mary couldn't care less. She dragged her friend into the restaurant and found a nice secluded table. She didn't say anything until they'd given the waitress their orders. Her friend was busy fiddling with her silverware, her bottom lip tucked nervously between her teeth.

Mary didn't waste any more time, "Molly Hooper! Are you pregnant?!" she whispered.

"I don't know! I've never been late before, but I haven't had a period since 3 weeks before our Chase. And I spent all morning in the loo being sick. Can't keep anything down but bread and ginger ale. Oh my god. What am I going to do? What is Sherlock going to say? I went on the pill when I first started my Quocalor, ever hopeful you know, but I know that it's not always effective, especially in Other females. I should have been more careful...and now...now," She burst into tears. Quiet racking sobs.

Mary moved to the seat adjacent and put an arm around her distraught friend, rubbing soothing circles into her back.

FELINE FRIEND OKAY? Mary's Beast was concerned for its sleuth mate. _She's scared._ WHY? JUST A BABY. SWEET KITTEN. NEW SLEUTH MEMBER. GOOD._ It's not that simple_. At that, her Bear just chuffed.

"It's alright. Take a deep breath. Its going to be okay." Molly was calming now, using a napkin dipped in water to wipe her face. "Besides, are you positive? Have you taken a test?"

The Sphinx shook her head but motioned to her handbag. "No. But I've bought a couple tests. Just haven't had the courage to check yet. Am I a coward?"

Mary was quick to reassure her. "Absolutely not. This is a big deal. It's natural to be apprehensive. Have you and Sherlock discussed children?"

"No. It's a bit soon. We only just Mated a month ago. We're not even married yet by human law!"

"And that bothers you?"

"Yes...I mean no...I don't know. All I know is that this was not planned and Sherlock may like mysteries but is most definitely_ not _a fan of surprises." Molly was subdued now, speaking more to the tablecloth than Mary. "What am I going to do?"

Mary decided to take charge. "First, we find out the truth. Facts before freak out, yeah?" Molly nodded. "Come on let's go."

"But we haven't eaten yet," she protested.

"Pish posh. We'll get it to go." Mary waved to the waiter. "Check please!"

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They made it as far as the Tesco before Molly couldn't stand it any longer. She pulled Mary inside the restroom (thankfully empty) and left her waiting while she locked herself in the tiny stall. After peeing on the surprisingly hard-to-aim-for stick, she left the stall and placed it on the sink- out of sight.

Her Beast caught a strange scent. T

IME. ITS TIME. _What? _Was her Beast smiling?

She noticed that Mary was rubbing her lower back, a wince on her face. "Mary, are you okay?"

The Sow waved her off. "I'm fine. Just a bit sore is all."

"You sure? You've been doing that off and on all day."

"Yeah, I'm-" But her denial was cut short by a well-timed moan and a sudden wet stain spreading on her trousers. The women stood flabbergasted for a full five seconds before busting into a flurry of action.

"I'll get some towels to lay down on the seat!" She may be a pathologist, but she knew enough about obstetrics to be aware that water breaking was not a one-time incident. It would break and leak in spurts each time the baby adjusted position. _The baby._ A smile lit Molly's face. She grabbed up all their bags, refusing to let Mary carry anything, and they made to leave the Tesco restroom and catch a cab to the hospital- _Mary was in labor!_

They were almost to the door of the store before Mary's face lit up and she waddled back to the loo, coming back out seconds later, wrapping Molly's almost forgotten test in a paper towel.

Molly hailed a cab and they were soon on their way to the same Other hospital where Sherlock's wound was treated weeks ago. "I cant believe you've been having contractions all day and didn't tell me!"

Mary was beginning to sweat a bit but managed a guilty smile. "I wasn't sure. I've had Braxton Hicks before and didn't want to get into a tiffy over nothing."

Molly grabbed her hand in a show of comfort and solidarity. "You don't have to apologize. How far apart are your contractions?"

A grimace of pain came over Mary's face as she gritted out, "Not sure, but I'm getting one now."

Molly glanced at the time on her mobile. "Its been 15 minutes." Mary just nodded in response and squeezed her hand tighter.

Several minutes in tense silence passed before Mary spoke up out of the blue, "Do you want to know what it said?"

"It's really not the time, Mary. You're in labor for goodness sakes!"

"So?" She paused searching her best friend's face. "Well Molly?"

Molly gave a quick jerk of her head in approval. She had to know. When Mary answered, her voice was soft. But strong. "Positive. Congratulations, Molly."

A thousand thoughts ran through her head at warp speed, but she could only focus on one.

A CUB. YES. WANT CUB. A single tear fell from her eye. Surprisingly, it was not one of sadness or terror like she would have expected, but of indescribable...happiness. Molly was happy. Frightened- yes. Nervous about Sherlock's reaction- of course. But overall, it felt...right.

MALE BE HAPPY. GOOD MALE. Her Beast was purring in content and reassuring her. Mary squeezed her hand again- this time in encouragement., not pain.

A sudden thought struck her. "Mary! We need to call the boys! They'll need to head back immediately. John would be devastated if he missed the birth of his own daughter."

"Oh my god, you're right. With all the madness, it slipped my mind. S'pose I expected Sherlock to magically deduce my labor all the way from Ipswich and they would just appear," she laughed. Molly watched her fiddle with her mobile for a bit. "Huh, that's odd. It's not working. Haven't got a signal."

"What? We're in the middle of London. Hold on, let me try mine." Molly had a similar result with her phone. "No luck. What on Earth-"

The cab slammed on the brakes nearly sending the two women into the seat in front of them.

Mary slapped her hand on the window separator, "Hey, watch it! I'm having a baby here. Actually, since you have so rudely stopped, do you mind if we borrow your phone? I need to call my husband and tell him."

"Oh that won't be necessary. I've already taken the liberty of informing him. Hope you don't mind."

Molly froze. _No. It can't be_. She would know that silky voice and mocking accent anywhere.

RUN. TAKE FRIEND AND RUN. ESCAPE! Her Beast tried to warn her, but it was too late. _How did she miss his scent? Was he suppressing it? Impossible._

The man from her nightmares turned around and faced them, an evil smirk on his face. "Hello. You must be Mrs. Watson. It's a pleasure to meet you. And looking so...fat." He tipped his hat to the Bear and turned to Molly. "And Molly, it's _so good_ to see you again."

He flashed a hint of teeth. Even though she knew he wasn't an Other, the smile reminded her of a predatory animal, one untamed by a human conscience.

His next sentence chilled her to the core. "Did you miss me?"

**Thoughts?**

**REVIEWS ARE LOVE.**

**Direwolf**

**AN: A Sow is a female bear and a sleuth is a group or family of bears.**


	13. Chapter 13

**BBC's Sherlock is not mine.**

This phone call was becoming tedious. "Yes, of course. We should have the necessary materials within the month."

He listened to the voice on the other end of the line, then responded. "Do calm down. It's all under contr-" he was interrupted by his office door flying open and his temporary assistant barging in (Anthea was on extended leave).

"Mr. Holmes!"

He scowled at the young man, usually well-tempered and admittedly a fine assistant, "What is the meaning of this? I'm on a very important call." He pressed the phone to his shoulder, ignoring the questions coming from it.

"Sir, its Downey, one of the agents assigned to Miss Hooper's detail."

McPhee had his attention immediately. "What about him?"

"He never reported in so I sent agents to check up on him. They just found him. Dead," he gulped.

"And Molly? Miss Hooper?" Mycroft's eyes were beginning to glow. He usually kept iron control over his Other aspects, but...could not find the strength to deny his Beast currently. Luckily, McPhee was Other as well. A male Vixen.

"No sign of her, sir. Or Mrs. Watson. They were together today. A lady's day of some sort. Last seen getting inside a cab just outside of the local Tesco." At the young Fox's explanation, Mycroft let go of his rigid control for just a few seconds. His stripes ran dark and he felt the solid oak table beneath his fist begin to crack.

He lifted the phone to his ear and interrupted the tirade taking place on the other end. "I beg your pardon, but I have to cut our call short. I will put my people in touch with yours."

"But Mycroft!"

"Good day, Mr. President," and with no further fanfare, he hung up the phone. "McPhee," His voice was ice, earning the nickname he had been unwillingly bestowed.

"Yes sir?"

"Call in the Guard."

"How many sir?"

Mycroft gave him a golden glare, "*All of them."

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"Something isn't right, John." Sherlock was studying the crime scene, taking in all the details. He considered the possibilities several times and just kept coming back to the same result- "This is all too planned."

"Its murder, Sherlock. It does usually involve an element of preparation." The Bear tried to reason, but Sherlock could tell that he too felt off.

"But to this level? The Order's kills so far have been brutal, unfeeling. Pure war. My brother's Guard is good. The best Other warriors in the nation. With their initial sneak strike foiled by Caine's death, the Order has had to strike behind Guard lines however they could. Fast. Bloody. This Canine was laid out. Almost artfully..."

"Maybe they just had a bit more time to...play." John's distaste for the word in this context was obvious.

"Perhaps. But unlikely. She is wearing all blue, there is a mysterious symbol painted on the wall in blood, cause of death was gunshot, but no bullet found- it's practically screaming for my attention. She's even missing her shoes for goodnes-" The detective froze, the answer screaming through his brain. "John. The shoes!"

"What? Like Carl Powers?"

"Exactly like Carl Powers. The other things are all echoes of our earlier cases- the matching clothes- the pink lady, mysterious symbol- the blind banker, missing weapon- the bloody guardsman. My biggest fan. And worst enemy. Moriarty. But why _this_ Other? Why?! This victim has no significance-"

"Sherlock," the Bear scolded.

"Its true. She has no meaning to me or him. All this case did was drag us away from our females out to god-forsaken Ipswich." He snarled.

This time, the realization struck both men at the same time. It was John who spoke first, "My god! Sherlock, this is a trap!"

The detective already had his mobile out, texting furiously, "Correct. But the trap wasn't for us. At least not directly." He dialed Molly's number, then Mary's. It went straight to voicemail both times. "Blast! Come on, John." Before he could move, John's phone rang.

"Its Mary. Thank god," He picked up the phone and put it on speaker.

"Hello. Mary?"

"_Guess again, gorgeous_." The voice was just as he remembered. Hollow.

"You...what have you done with my wife?." John's words were shaky. Sherlock watched the muscles at his friend's shoulders bunch and strain-his Bear's hump (the Ursuline equivalent of stripes) growing in rage. "If you've hurt her, I swear-"

"_Oh do calm down. No one likes a drama queen. Now, put the big guy on the phone. The grownups need to talk."_

John didn't argue. He knew it was futile. Just handed the phone to Sherlock.

Sherlock's tone was deep, even. But inside, where Moriarty couldn't see, he was bellowing in rage and fear. "I'm here."

_He giggled. "I know. You're all the way over there and your poor little Mates are here with me. How perfect is that?"_

"What do you want?"

_"Dont you want to know how I did it? How I survived?"_

Sherlock growled, "I couldn't care less." Not entirely true, but irrelevant. "I want to know where my Mate is. And John's wife. What have you done?"

_"I've taken them. It was not pretty either. Had to use...force."_

Sherlock's Beast roared desperate to spring from its cage and hunt the monster down. FInd his Mate. "Are they-" his voice broke a bit here, "are they alive?" Sherlock's own mobile beeped, a picture coming through of both women lying in a cell, a little worse for wear, but definitely alive. It was time stamped.

"_See? All's well. Oh Sherlock...you always thought it was your incredible mind I was after. And that's true. You proved an amusing distraction. But it is your nature that I truly desire. And you never understood that."_

"My nature? You mean my Beast?"

_"Is that what you call it? That's cute. Of course that's what I want."_

"Your Order has declared war against my people. For someone who claims to admire us, you sure have a funny way of showing it. By destroying us. Then again, you are a psychopath, so perhaps it is the only logical choice for you."

John was starting lo lose it. His friend was more Bear now than man.

"_Tisk, tisk- still so simple-minded. I don't want to destroy you. I want to BE you. The Order is just a means to an end. Resources and power and fools at my command."_

The men looked at each other. Moriarty wanted to be Other. That was the reason behind all of this madness. "You are a fool. You cannot be made Other-science fiction and hokum. You must be born into it."

"_I'll admit, I was beginning to despair. All of my experiments thus far have been...less than successful. But then I had a report of a unique Feline. One whose species is said to have special gifts."_ Sherlock's blood ran cold at his words. This was about Molly. About his Sphinx.

"Enough!" John growled out.

Sherlock agreed, "Where are they?!"

The mastermind laughed and replied cryptically, _"I'll see you in the dark_." Sherlock could tell he was about to hangup the phone based on the rustling, but changed his mind at the last second, _"Oh John, I almost forgot to tell you...Your wife's contractions are about 10 minutes apart now. Toodles!"_ The line went dead.

John roared, the Bear clear in his features. Sherlock's own Beast was not far beneath the surface. Just then, the lights in the dank room went off, all except fo a small bulb in a corner lamp. It was a black light. And it lit up a previously invisible message on the wall.

**I O U**

KILL. KILL SPIDER. SAVE FEMALE. AND PRIDE MATE.

The men wasted no more time. They ran out of the building, ignoring the cops still milling around outside, and came upon a sleek black car waiting for them.

The driver stepped out and opened the door for them. "Mr. Holmes sends his regards. He will meet you in the city." They got in and the car sped off.

"Mycroft. He must know what's going on." This only served to anger John further.

"If he knew they were captured, why didn't he bloody well call us?!"

"Most likely, he has been trying to. But Moriarty is clever. He's blocked our communications somehow."

John didn't respond to this, just shook his head and worked for a few minutes to reign his Beast in. Finally, "What are we going to do? She's...she's in labor...Sherlock, my wife is in labor and in the hands of a madman." His voice was barely a whisper, and choked with emotion.

"Its simple. We're going to get them back." He looked his friend in the eye, wanting him to see the earnest determination there before continuing, "And pity any fool who gets in our way."

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

They scoured the city. Both Sherlock and Mycroft studied the picture sent by Moriarty. The grainy photo didn't give much away in the way of detail, but it was enough for the Holmes boys to narrow it down to an abandoned warehouse district. They really were frighteningly brilliant when working toward the same cause.

After searching several empty buildings at a pace that would leave normal humans winded, they came upon a nondescript warehouse with a handwritten note tacked to the door.

"Holmes and Watsons only. Piper will be paid if instructions disobeyed."

Mycroft motioned for his men to draw back and followed John and Sherlock inside. It was cold. Dark.

SMELL HER. SMELL MATE. AND FEMALE BEAR.

Sherlock could tell the others caught the scents too, John practically whimpering when catching the scent of his laboring wife. They were nearby. So close.

The lights flickered on and the Spider himself crawled from the shadows, clapping his hands, "Very impressive. It only took you 3 hours to travel all the way from Ipswich and find me. Not too shabby."

Sherlock took the lead. "We're found you. Now, where are they?"

Moriarty whistled low and a long sheet at the far end of the building dropped, revealing a sight that would haunt Sherlock until his dying day. Molly was in her Sphinx form, an electric collar locked around her throat. She was pinned down by metal bands bolted into the concrete floor all down the length of her body. She had matted blood in her fur from minor wounds and was breathing in huffs as if nursing a few broken ribs.

NO! MATE INJURED. HELP HER. GO TO HER. _Patience._

But the worst was Mary. She lay in a heap next to Molly, battered and bruised. She'd tried to put up a fight. Sherlock catalogued at least 4 distinct fist patterned bruises already forming in her skin- none of them close to her bulging belly. The bastards who subdued her were careful to avoid the baby. Moriarty's orders. He must have plans for the little one.

She was panting, so clearly in pain but trying valiantly to hide it, her eyes latching onto her husbands and a tremulous smile gracing her face. Her voice was weak when she spoke, "John...I'm okay. Just happy you're here. Could use some ice chips though. Do you mind?"

Mary's attempt at humor seemed to please Moriarty. "Oh she's funny. I can see why you like her, John. I'm curious, is she as spirited in the bedroom as she is when fighting?"

John lunged, his Other form ripping through. A giant Brown Bear stood before them, shaggy hair rolling and long snout snapping at the tiny man. There was a loud clicking sound and Mary screamed. Sherlock noticed a device connected to her ankle and a corresponding remote in Moriarty's hand.

"John stop!"

Just as the Bear made to bring his massive paw down on the grinning Moriarty, he caught his wife's screams and drew back, his long sharp teeth flashing a threat. He remained in Bear form and ambled back, waiting not-so-patiently for his opportunity to strike without risk to his mate.

"Clever Bear! I want one. In fact, I plan on adopting one very soon." The Bear growled and flinched as if to attack again but managed to control the impulse.

Mycroft addressed Moriarty for the first time, "You have control of the room. what now?"

"Ooooh, the Iceman thaweth. Never thought I'd see the day. Molly is impressive that way though, isn't she? Worming her way into nonexistent hearts. Hiding such grand secrets. Why, with her unique blood and the scientific peculiarities of the infant Bear, I'd say my odds are looking good."

Sherlock didn't let the terror grip him. He just pushed it aside and barged on. He needed to get to Molly now. Needed to hold her. "If you have everything you need, why let us find you? Why bring us here?" The answer hit Sherlock like a ton of bricks."Elimination."

Moriarty rolled his eyes. "Duh. Took you long enough."

He made a motion with his hands, and there was the distinct sound of rifles cocking and chambers loading. Sherlock had smelled the men in the building when they first entered. Knew that assassination was a serious possibility. But there was one thing that Moriarty didn't know. One vital thing. The scents of the hidden men had changed. One by one. Silently been replaced. With Others. Mycroft's Guard.

The look of surprise on Moriarty's face when the targeting lasers landed not on the three Other men, but on him, was priceless.

He took his hands out of his pockets and spun around, an angry scowl on his face, "How?!"

It was Mycroft who answered. "You threatened my Sister and pregnant Pride mate. You didn't actually think you'd get away with it did you? The concept is laughable."

Sherlock could have hugged his brother if it wasnt an inappropriate time and completely against their brotherly code. This had been the plan all along, but still- the execution and performance of Mycroft's men was admirable.

The Sphinx mewled getting everyone's attention. She was straining at her bonds, trying to get to Mary. They needed to end this. Now. He wanted to be the one to rip Moriarty's throat out. But he would forsake the honor if it meant getting to the women faster.

"Mycroft, give the signal. Finish it."

But the ever-clever Moriarty had one more trick up his sleeve. He clicked the remote in his hand and the lights went out, immersing the window-less warehouse in darkness, rendering their Other senses dulled. No one could see him. There were shouted questions from the rafters- "Does anyone have eyes on the target?" "Negative." "No clear shot. Repeat. No shot."

Sherlock decided to trust his nose, refusing to let him get away. He felt his body warm up and let the Phase take him, his Legurian form taking off in search of the madman. He didn't get far. He was rammed in the side by a giant wall of muscle, taking him by surprise. It was an Other male. In his Tigurian form. As they faced off, Sherlock detected madness in the Beast's eyes and movements. Moriarty's work. He'd tortured this creature past the brink of insanity and released him into the warehouse. He must have had him sequestered away as a back up plan. Brilliant.

Battle ensued. The Beast lunged and Sherlock ducked low, delivering a vicious swipe to its underbelly, claws running deep. The Tigurian recovered quickly whipping around and landing a blow on Sherlock's front left shoulder. Sherlock registered the sounds of battle taking place around him. There must have been several Beasts lying in wait. He heard his brother's distinct hiss of disdain and John's battle cry. But he focused on his own charge.

The Tigurian fought brutally, but was no match for Sherlock's larger form and motivation. He just needed to get Molly. Needed to make sure she and Mary and the baby were okay.

After some clever maneuvering, he saw an opening at the Feline's throat and went for it, sinking his teeth in and ripping with all the force he could muster. The Tigurian fell and blood poured from the gaping wound at his neck. He was dead within moments.

Sherlock didn't give him a second thought and didn't bother to search for Moriarty. He'd be long gone by now, using the mayhem of the battle to slip away, undetected. That was the point after all.

He padded over to Molly, meeting John and Mycroft there. They all Phased back into human form. Mycroft and Sherlock used their Other strength to break the metal bands and electric collar, freeing Molly, who immediately Phased as well. She threw herself into Sherlock's arms and kissed him, letting him feel her body pressed against the length of his.

ALIVE. OKAY. NEVER LEAVE FEMALE ALONE AGAIN.

He wanted to take her and lock her away, bury himself so far into her that her secnt would be indistinguishable from his. It was made utterly clear to him in that moment. Molly Hooper was his weakness. He would do anything to keep her safe. With him. He recognized the weakness and let it strengthen him.

Sooner than he would have like, Molly pulled away and went over to the Watson's. It was at this moment that Sherlock realized nis Mate was naked in a room full of Other males, most of them un-Mated.

COVER HER.

He growled a low warning and took up position behind her, shielding her as best he could from appreciative stares. Thankfully, she was suppressing her scent, so he didn't have to bother with disconnecting any of the males' olfactory organs. One of Mycroft's men approached them with a stack of generic clothes and they all dressed hastily, except for Mary. She was still wearing the clothes from their shopping trip. She couldn't Phase during labor. It was too dangerous.

Mary groaned and it drew Sherlock's attention to her rippling abdomen.

"Its close. John, the baby's coming!" The Ursuline male had taken up position behind his wife, letting her lean against him.

"I know, baby. I know." John gave Sherlock a pleading look, but the detective had no answer for him. He heard his brother a few feet away summoning medical assistance, but based on Mary's pants and grimaces and the extremely short span of time between ripples, they wouldn't arrive on time.

Molly surprised them all by kneeling in front of Mary. "Okay Mary, we need to get these pants off and see where we're at." She calmly helped her friend remove her pants and draped the same sheet used to hide them over her knees as a form of modesty.

"Molly, I love you, but have you ever delivered a baby before?"

Molly gave her a reassuring smile. "Before settling on Pathology I seriously considered Obstetrics. Even did a fellowship for 6 months where I helped deliver several infants. I may not be an expert, but I'm going to get you through this Mary. All three of you," She added looking at John as well.

Sherlock watched in awe as his Pria coached the Ursuline family through the birth. She was brilliant, never faltering.

Fifteen minutes later, with emergency services just arriving on scene, Mary gave birth to a healthy baby girl. For a moment, there was no sound. Sherlock was worried. Werent' they supposed to cry and wail? Or make_ some_ sort of sound?

But Molly just hooked her pointer finger and scooped mucus and fluids from the baby's throat, turning her belly side down for a few light baby's face scrunched up and she let out a bellow, so very reminiscent of her father's.

Sherlock noticed that Mary and John were both crying, and Molly had a few tears of her own staining tracks into her dirty cheeks. She used an extra shirt and cleaned the baby as best as she could before swaddling her in another shirt and placing her in the mother's waiting arms. He had to admit- the tiny girl had a certain appeal. She burrowed into the warmth and safety of her mother's chest and Sherlock thought maybe she was burrowing her way into his ever-expanding heart as well.

John was gazing at his daughter with a look of love. And just a touch of lingering fear. He had almost lost her after all.

The scene struck a chord deep within Sherlock. Something close to _longing_ resounded in the pit of his chest.

WANT.

The EMPs rushed over and soon the Watsons were in an ambulance on their way to the designated Other hospital. Mycroft's personnel cleared the building with practiced efficiency, leaving only the Holmes brothers and Molly.

Mycroft shuffled his feet. "Well..." he began awkwardly, "Glad to see that you are unharmed Molly. I need to organize the search for Moriarty, so I'll leave you two be. Just wanted to make sure there wasn't anything else you n-" He was interrupted by Molly stepping up to him and wrapping her arms around his waist. Mycroft was clearly insure of what to do, but relishing the embrace. He patted her on the back and head and after a few moments, she stepped away.

"Thank you, Mycroft."

He cleared his throat. "You're welcome." With that, he spun on his heel and fled, obviously trying to escape the avalanche of emotion.

Sherlock came up behind his Mate and bundled her in his arms. She was trembling a bit, so he ran his hands up and down her arms. "I'm so sorry, Molly."

She turned to him and the look on her face was almost angry. "Don't. Never apologize for that man. His evil is his alone."

"But I failed. My most sacred duty is to keep you safe. And I failed."

She laughed then, actually _laughed._ "Did you? I don't see it. Here I stand, healthy and whole. Where exactly is the failure in that?"

"He never should have got his hands on you to begin with. I was so desperate for any sign of him that I went running at the first sign...and John almost lost Mary and the baby in the process. And I...I almost lost _you_." He pulled her to him and nuzzled her neck. In the exact spot where he'd Marked her during their Chase. The Mark had long since healed but would never fade. In fact, it was the male's responsibility to keep it fresh and strong, warning others away. It was a duty he was quite fond of. He would not do it now though. He required the privacy of their own den for what he had in mind. "I can't lose you, Molly. It would..._end me_." He heard the break in his voice and was grateful that no one else was around to hear it. She was the only person he was comfortable witnessing this vulnerable side of him.

She held him to her, running a hand through his curls and crooning to him softly. _She was comforting him?_

YES. GOOD MATE. SAFE MATE.

She pulled away from him, but only just. "Come on, we need to get to the hospital. I want to check on Mary and the baby. Oh Sherlock, wasn't she beautiful?"

"Beauty is a subjective construct influenced by-" the look on Molly's face cut him short, "but I suppose she was...endearing."

Molly giggled, but turned serious. "Almost makes you want one of your own." The comment took Sherlock off guard. He searched her face, but could find no hint of her true meaning.

_Is that what he wanted?_ A child that was half him, half Molly. The thought was pleasant and he thought perhaps he wouldn't be opposed. But the picture of a young cub brought his dream to mind. _His cub snatched away by a spider _He growled at the memory.

This gave Molly the wrong impression and she pulled away, distancing herself from hom him.

"No! Pria, that's not...I'm not angry at the thought of a child. Actually, I think I long for one. With you. But I...it frightens me. It is blatantly clear, especially after today, that they would be in danger. Can I make a child knowing that I bring them into a world of threats and danger?"

She was mollified and stroked his cheek with her soft hand. "Oh Sherlock, there is always danger. I could get in a car accident on the way home and die." He chuffed in anger and tightened his hold. "I'm just saying, there are no guarantees."

He nodded, thinking there was nothing else to say on the matter. At least not now. He was soon proved wrong, for she continued speaking, and proceeded to change his entire life. Again.

"Besides, it's a bit late for doubt."

At her words, he delved into his mind palace examining all recent memories of her. _Illness- mistaken for stomach flu, Exhaustion, no interruption in their exuberant sexual activity and they'd been together for over a month._

PREGNANT. _Yes_. The Beast purred.

"You're...?" He gulped.

She nodded. "And?" He didn't respond. Her shoulders dropped and she began walking to the car standing by to take them to the hospital. Mycroft stood beside it, apparently waiting for them.

What did she expect him to say? The truth? That he was surprised, ecstatic, and terrified all at once. What was the protocol here? Where was John when he needed him?_ Oh yes, at the hospital with HIS new family._

Sherlock did the only thing that he could think of. He caught up to her and scooped her off her feet, carrying her the rest of the way to the car. Her squeal of surprise warmed him.

"Sherlock! I can walk on my own, believe it or not!"

"I know, but I find myself in the mood to spoil my pregnant Pria." He heard his brother's sharp intake of breath. Apparently, Molly's pregnancy was news to him as well. At least he knew he wasnt entirely losing his touch, if Mycroft had missed it as well. "Would you deny me this?"

There were tears in Molly's eyes. Again. How many times was the female going to cry today?

The Beast chuffed. FEMALES.

At least these were tears of joy. He hoped.

She wrapped her hands around his neck and relaxed into him. "I love you, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock responded with a purr and a gentle kiss. They climbed in the car, Molly ensconced firmly in his lap, Mycroft sliding in across from them and were off.

Mycroft twiddled with the end of his cane and asked, "So I am to be an Uncle then?"

"Indeed, Mycroft. Does that bother you?" Sherlock couldn't help but tease him.

"Certainly not. Just considering the terror of another 'Sherlock' running about, getting into all sorts of trouble. Thank heavens for Molly. She will hopefully temper the child's nature to a bearable degree."

Molly reached over and squeezed one of Mycroft's hands. "I highly doubt it."

"In that case, Great Britain beware."

Molly laughed and Sherlock caught his brother's eye. Mycroft gave him a subtle nod. That gesture said it all.

There was still a murderous mastermind with an obsession for Others, and the Holmes family in particular, running free. Molly's heritage, and now their child's as well, put them in constant danger. They would always be hunted.

And Sherlock would alway be there to protect them. To cherish them.

If he read his brother correctly, he would not be alone.

**REVIEWS ARE LOVE,**

**Direwolf**


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